Visions unto myself

Good Riddance to Bad Rubbish

2012-01-16T23:32:00.000-06:00

Oh Drama. Don't we all just hate to love it?

I know that my posting has lacked a little something lately. Mainly it has lacked....well...posting.

Let me catch you up a bit. My boyfriend got a new roommate towards the beginning of the fall semester. Let's just call him Shmel.

Shmel was not my favorite person in the world. My best guess was that he is in his fifties, even though he looks closer to his eighties. Shmel has also done a lot of drugs in his life. Way too many drugs. Shmel was a little creepy. He was upwards of 300 pounds and had bad teeth and a wheezing laugh that inserted itself into my life at awkward unexplainable times.

Also, Shmel liked to dumpster dive. If you don't know what dumpster diving is, it is where mentally insane people and/or hoarders peek their heads into dumpsters hoping to find that one item that will change their lives forever. One man's trash is another man's treasure, right? With the exception of a few novel trinkets, what they mainly end up with is a bunch of useless shit that should end up in the dumpster.

One day Shmel came home from work. He was carrying a blue box that I didn't really give a shit about. Unfortunately he told me all about it anyway. This box had been in the dumpster behind their apartment complex. And what wonderful marvels did it reveal upon opening? I know because Shmel also told me this. He liked to talk, that Shmel. It contained a computer monitor, a laptop, a journal, a music pedal, cassette tapes, some receipts, and shoes. I didn't pay much attention to him, mainly because I was ignoring him, until the name that was on the stuff was said aloud. I went to take a closer look, and sure enough it belonged to a friend from high school.

I told Shmel that I would like to get a hold of this guy on facebook, and helped him put the items back in the box. I still wasn't listening to him that closely because I don't enjoy listening to people I hold a large amount of disdain for, but he gave at least three sentences that included the phrase, "Well, finders keepers in my mind."

Mainly he was complying for the moment because he either didn't want to stand up to me, or he didn't think I would actually do anything about it.

I got a hold of my friend and discovered that it was some stuff that he found in his parents' house that he was trying to get rid of. He gave me his number and asked me to retrieve the box so that he could dispose of it properly. The next day, I went over to my boyfriend's apartment and picked up the box so that I could give it back to my friend. When he came and picked it up I asked for the computer moniter as a consolation prize, since that is what Shmel had verbally expressed the most interest in. I also asked about the laptop but was informed that it was royally fucked and there was no point.

The next day my boyfriend joined me at the bar for a shot because of his terrible day. He told me that on top of other things going on, Shmel had yelled at him when he was told that I had taken the box. I later found out that he had yelled at him in the middle of the open kitchen of the restaurant they both work in, and had chosen to scream like a five year old without any consolation from the truth that the laptop did not work. He refused to speak to my boyfriend after that, either at work or at home.

About a week and a half ago I got a phone call at work. It was from my boyfriend. "You know how I told you I had a funny feeling about Shmel lately?" he said. "Well, I came home and all of his stuff is gone."

Yes, Shmel upped his piece-of-shit-ness by just moving all of his stuff out of the apartment without any warning other that being a shady bastard. He then had the balls to tell my boyfriend at work that he had left some things of his at the apartment and would like them back. The response? "The apartment is now considered abandoned by you. Legally that shit is mine."

You may think you won, Shmel. But I won, you piece of shit. I won.

Hitting? Nah, I'll Just Screw With Your Mind Instead

2011-11-07T17:22:00.000-06:00

I was having a conversation with my boyfriend a couple weeks ago that travelled to the subject of hitting or spanking kids. He posed the question to me:

Well what if the kid stares you straight in the face and calls you a bitch?

Yes, I'd probably be upset, but I stand firm that there is never a need to hit a child. My dad used to use a belt on us, and I would say that there are only negative impacts from that. It literally did nothing to curb my behavior except that I started putting books in the back of my pants when it was time for punishment. I am actually still a bit angry about it, and find that I take the approach that this sort of punishment is wrong rather than saying, Oh, well, I was spanked as a child and I turned out just fine. Any form of physical abuse is not an excuse to pass the behavior on.

To answer his question I told him the approach I took, and still take, with my niece. To best portray how I got her to behave I will tell a small tale of manipulation and annoyance.

I don't remember what she had lied about. If I remember correctly, and it is very possible that I don't, she was around three or four. The important thing is that this tiny person looked into our eyes and blatantly told us something that we all knew was untrue. I took her into the living room of my mom's house so that I could demand her full attention without distraction. I sat her down on a kid-sized bench and asked her why she had lied. She, being the stubborn little shit that I love, would not make eye-contact or answer my question.

You need to tell me why you lied, I said for the thirty-thousandth time.

Finally my niece burst into tears. Through dramatic and unnecessary sobs she told me, Because, *sob*, I just like lying!!!

Did I continue the conversation after this? No. I immediately made eye contact with my sister who was hiding on the other side of the wall and had to expend all of my energy not laughing in front of my niece so that she would not think that her behavior should continue because I thought it was funny.

I don't know if you have ever giving a small child a lecture, but they do not like it. Their little faces look like they are going through the most excruciating event they will ever experience in their lives. Mainly, it works magic.

So will I hit my children if I ever choose to have them? I hope not. I would rather morph their psyche and their behavioral patterns by making them hate the repercussions so much that they would rather do things differently next time than ever have to go through that experience again.

Why Corporate Restaurants Suck: Part One

2011-08-31T22:38:00.000-05:00

Who wants to hear some of the stupid things we have to do at Shmupplebees?
(I do! I do!)

As you know, corporate restaurants are all about the bucks. For them. They make it seem like these things are for the bucks that meander into our aprons, but don't be fooled. They are all about finding ways that will save every penny they can stuff into their already overfilled pockets. Here are some things we have to do to save money:

Cut lemons as we use them. I don't really know how this saves them money since we always run out of lemons even when they are precut.

Upselling, upselling, and more upselling. When your server annoys you by pushing things like bar drinks, sides that cost money, side salads, and deserts, that is not their fault. This technique is cleverly disguised as something that will make the server more money by making the tickets larger. I don't get a larger tip if, by the end of the meal, the customer is so annoyed by me asking eighteen thousand questions for everthing they order that they would rather see me get run over by a bus than hand me three dollars.

Fill the drinks all the way up with ice. This makes the drinks disappear more quickly, and allows for more time that some parched gentleman at table fifty three will sit there looking at an empty glass.

Only filling the beers up to a certain point. The bartender is only allowed to fill it up to the "shmupple" near the top of the glass. Believe it or not people get angry at this. The managers have begun refusing to go up to tables complaining about this because, well, there is just nothing we can do. I have told countless customers to call in and complain but they always say they were just joking with me. Okay, snarky jokester, sorry I didn't get your humor.

Stay tuned for part two, where I tell you about my biggest pet peive of the moment regarding Shmupplebees. For now, tip your server and always be polite. You never know if it could be me and then you will have to deal with being the star of an overdramatized bitch on the blog Visions Unto Myself.

Please Stop Making These Movies

2011-08-21T20:50:00.000-05:00

What. The. Fuck.

Welcome Back To Shmupplebees

2011-08-07T00:07:00.000-05:00

After a summer of working in a lonely, empty restaurant, I have almost forgotten what it is like to be busy at Shmupplebees. The fair is in town and school is about to start back up, so the customers are returning to make our restaurant their home away from home. ...because at home you toss food on the floor and yell at the person who cooked because he/she did not put enough Alfredo on your pasta. Right?

My favorite part of tonight?

Oh how can I choose.

Was it the table who insisted that I sing to their friend even though it was physically impossible for any of the six people on to do so?

Or the table that racked up a seventy dollar bill and conveniently took both of their merchant copies so they didn't have to tip me?

Maybe the table that walked up to the bar to collect their own drinks because they had been waiting too long even though I warned them prior to ordering that it would be awhile because we were busy as shit?

At least I will have my expendable income back. Being poor during the summer makes for a very sad Kara.

Thank You Again, Facebook

2011-08-04T00:04:00.000-05:00

An actual post on a facebook status. It was one that a mutual friend posted on, so it showed up on my feed.

"Y do u do this to ur self??? i no u have a good heart n all n u always mean well but u have to stop n this looks like the purfect time just get a job get ur own place n do ur own thing n mayb not worry bout others so much n worry bout u a little more! I seriously believe if u wood do that u wood keep a gf n eventually have a much happier life its ok to care bout sum1 just not so much. U r a good guy n a girl wood b lucky to have u if u get ur priorites strait! plz i dnt like to c hurt n confused!!!"

What. The. Hell.

Oh, and thanks for the easy blog post.

Love Me...And You

2011-08-01T21:16:00.000-05:00

What exactly is talent? I can only imagine that just about everyone reading this either has talent or thinks they have talent to share with the world. I myself and the latter, but it's okay because I laugh at my own jokes. At least I'm having fun, right?

I would like to explain talent like this:

Talent is the difference between Christina Aguilera describing your uniqueness by saying, "You are beautiful no matter who you are," (which is too cliche to even go into) or by sayin something like, "No artist paints the perfect tree." Talent is about being original and artistic in what you have to say, whether it be in wording or opinion.

During my time blogging I have come across some amazing people in the blogosphere. I would like to take this time to thank each and everyone of you for reading my crap, providing me with entertainment, and understanding that sometimes a person just needs a little time away from the real world to express themself.

She Should Have Gone To Rehab

2011-07-23T12:48:00.000-05:00

Too soon?

I was told that if you make a joke about it being too soon, then it's not too soon. However, I feel like I find humor in things way before anyone else can even think to humanly and morally find it funny.

Let's start over.

When I clicked on MSN.com about fifteen minutes ago, I was shocked to see that Amy Winehouse was found dead in her London home. If you don't know who she is, she sings the very annoying and catchy song, 'Rehab'. If you want to read the details for yourself you can click here. I don't want to talk about the details of her life.

I want to talk about the invasive sadness that surrounds the fact that every detail of her life is now being displayed all over the internet. It is sad that she died, I find it sad when anyone's life is taken at an early age, but that does not give us the right to sop up the dirty gossip that is to be had about the problems that drove them to their fatal habits in the first place.

So all I have to say on her is this: I hope that her friends and family are able to deal with this appropriately so that none of them have lasting trauma and end up down the same path she travelled. I hope that they are able to find happiness within their lives again even though someone they loved is gone, and I hope that they will be able to remember her for her talents, both personally and musically. Rest in peace.

*As a disclaimer, I am not an Amy Winehouse fan. That could make a difference on how interested I am in her personal life, so if you absolutely feel that her lyrics made her your best friend and that you will mourn her for the rest of your life then please ignore this blog post.

Why Not Listen To A Beautifully Tragic Song Once In Awhile?

2011-06-15T21:36:00.000-05:00

That Was Close!

2011-06-09T13:36:00.001-05:00

Well, I have officially returned from the rapture. I know that some of you were worried that I was just being lazy and not posting on here. No way. I would never do that to you all. Keeping my clever words to myself is like not sharing the last bits of moldy plum jelly on stale bread with your well-fed neighbor. It's just rude.

My excuse is that Jesus descended from heaven, took me into a loving and caressing embrace, and lifted me up to my own personal castle in the sky. When I got there, though, I realized that it was very lonely. As I've found out since escaping the clutches of eternal happiness, no one else was taken. I just had to sit around with the beautiful Victoria's Secret model-esque angels and eat bagels with cream cheese on them all day. Those angels aren't ones for interesting conversations. All they wanted to talk about was the glory of God and how they don't really mind that they don't have free will because the cream cheese now comes with jelly mixed into it. I kept trying to talk about my favorite subject, sex, but the only response I got was that I wasn't married so I shouldn't know anything about that. Talk about frustrating.

Even worse than the lonely atmosphere was the fact that there was no internet in heaven. When Shmishelle took her internet with her she must have accidentally unhooked the holy webs as well. I asked the angels who their service provider was but all they cared about was whether I wanted grape or strawberry on my bagel.

So, a couple days ago I escaped. It was much simpler than you would imagine. I simply began breaking the ten commandments one by one until God became so fed up that he had one of his angels pack a bag and send me back to my tiny apartment in Kansas. She packed me a lunchbox but by that time I was so sick of eating those damn bagels that I purposely dropped it on cloud six or seven during my decent back to earth.

So now things are back to normal. I restored the internet back to its proper place in my home and returned to hang out with my blogger friends who don't have problems with conversations surrounding immorality and all-around bad behavior.

Now I have to go find a homeless person to give the boxes of cream cheese and blueberry bagels that keep mysteriously appearing outside my door.

Alone Again, Naturally

2011-05-30T17:18:00.000-05:00

Well blogger friends,

The time has finally come. I am alone again.

No, I didn't break up with my boyfriend. My dear friend Shmishelle has left me to go live in happily-ever-after-land with her boyfriend. We all spent the day moving her belongings out of our apartment to their new house.

Upon arrival of my apartment, I took a moment to stare at the mass of open spaces that have suddenly taken over what used to be an uncomfortably crowded home. I struggled through the contradictory feelings of immense sadness and overwhelming glee at the thought of being alone. Right now it's mostly sadness, but hey, it hasn't even been a day.

I really am excited about living on my own. In a month from now I'm moving to a two bedroom that I will occupy all by myself. I just have to get through the next month living solely with the ghost that I'm pretty sure whispered my name a couple weeks ago (I'll tell that story later).

It shouldn't be too bad, right?

Slow Claps Are For Amateurs

2011-05-17T15:59:00.001-05:00

Out of everything I saw in Texas last weekend, one incident stands out the most. It happened at my boyfriend's sister's nursing school graduation. The graduation itself was pretty unorganized and boring, so I'll save you the details of that and go straight to what I now refer to as the greatest moment of my life.

The graduates were split up into two columns with three rows each. If I remember correctly, there were about seven women in each row. At some point in the ceremony, one of these women went up to accept an award for being awesome in some nature or other. When she did the other students began to clap because they were so proud of her. In fact, the superb feelings they had for this student were so great that they tried to give her a standing ovation.

As soon as her name was called and she joyfully sauntered up to the podium, the clapping began. With the very first congratulatory hand thrust, one of the graduates in the back row shot up like she had been strapped to an amusement park ride. Unfortunately, this ride only had one turn because it slowly brought her back into a sitting position after she realized that no one else was standing with her. The clapping continued and eventually, after what seemed like hours to my attention span at this point, a few people in the back row of the left column began to stand. Slowly, oh slowly, other students sitting in the left column began to rise into the standing ovation as well. Only after everyone on that side of the stage had stood did the right column of students begin to join in as well. It started in the back row again, and made it to the middle of the second row before the appropriate time allotted for congratulating their fellow graduate ran out. The girl sitting in the middle of the second row must not have known if she had time to join, because she kind of squatted up and down like she was bobbing on a pool floatie for a few seconds until everyone sat back down.

I sat there laughing inappropriately the entire time, and finally leaned over and whispered into my boyfriend's ear:

You know how you've always wanted to start a slow clap? I think we've just witnessed the slow clap version of the standing ovation. I'm not sure if there's any way to ever live up this.

Need Answers? Go To Texas.

2011-05-16T14:15:00.002-05:00

Oh Texas. Land of love, land of friendship, land of God. The christian God; not the other ones. At least that's what one of the billboards I passed said.

Jesus is the only way for America.

Really? Because I'm pretty sure we have freedom of religion somewhere in that pesky constitution of ours. And what about South America? Or Mexico? Or Canada? You know that the United States isn't America, right? Well, I do get your point. Only those that believe in Jesus can be true Americans. And all of you other countries in America? Suck it.

This was only one of the inspirational and educational billboards my boyfriend and I passed while driving though Texas last weekend. My other favorite was:

I couldn't find the picture of the actual billboard. This was the same picture that I saw, though,

only this was just a headshot. My boyfriend, after reading this post, felt like that should be

clarified.

I mean, I'm not a huge Obama fan either, but was it really necessary to make him look that evil? I feel like he's just biding his time until we're all fattened up enough to feed the poor and starving population of his home planet. Is that why ~~America~~ the United States has such an obesity problem?

For now, I'm going to go work out and starve myself so that I'll be left behind when the UFO's hover over this country and make the rapture look like child's play.

Home Sweet Home

2011-05-09T18:48:00.000-05:00

Well, fellow bloggers and unfortunate people who accidentally ended up here by searching 'Klondike Bar,' I made it back to Kansas alive. And have I got some stories for you. So many stories that I can blog for at least a week or two without going over to Google and looking up 'ideas for posting on my blog because my life isn't really that interesting.' Not that I would ever do that.

Today, however, I choose to keep my life uninteresting because I am still completely exhausted from the trip. I promise to give you entertaining and inappropriate stories in exchange for your patience.

Now, I rest and drink beer.

The Flaming Sedan-O-Death!

2011-05-04T18:30:00.000-05:00

I almost died today.

Okay, that may be a little melodramatic, but I could have been seriously injured. There is a street in the city I live in that goes through a small underpass. Right on the other side of the underpass lies a small side street containing a stop sign. Remember the fact that it has a stop sign; it's important. I was driving along at the safe speed of thirty-ish miles an hour when a green sedan zoomed into the space directly in front of my car. That was my space. I didn't have a stop sign. This guy did but apparently didn't feel like paying attention to it. He slammed on his brakes and I did the same, jerking my car to the left, which was, coincidentally, the lane that he was supposed to be in. With a pounding heart, I slowly veered around his sedan-o-death and shakily continued on my way. I fear I will forever have flashes of his snarling face as he tried to turn my poor Ford Taurus into a flaming trap for my mangled body; similar to those that served in Vietnam suffer. Oh God! I'm having one right now! Nooooooooooooooo!...

Better. Sorry about that.

I'm not much for religion, but after my real life Mario Kart experience I think is an appropriate time to say, 'Thank you Jesus for saving my car. It was made in '03 after all, and I don't think running head on into a stranger's asshole...I mean face is a good idea. Also, sorry for cussing. Church taught me that you don't like that. I probably won't give up smoking or stop cussing because you saved my life, but I really am grateful. Also, this prayer is just for humor purposes so please don't let me die this weekend either. Thank you. In Jes....your name, Amen.'

It's a good thing I didn't get in a wreck. Not just for the obvious reason that I prefer my car to run, but I am travelling to Texas this weekend. My boyfriend's sister is graduating on Friday, and I am going with him to attend that and meet his family. I don't think my car would have made it if it looked like this:

Or this:

And probably not this:

As it is, my car is still intact, so we are good to go.

Now all that's left to do is pack and send up a real prayer to Jesus so that he knows I was joking.
Have a great weekend you guys!

Oh where for art thou Truth?

2011-05-02T14:22:00.001-05:00

Since when did it take under seven hours for DNA results? Since when did it ever take the government less than a day to do anything? I hope you don’t think I’m being unpatriotic when I am a little hesitant to accept this information as complete truth with so many inconsistencies flying around. The major one, which is aside from the obvious DNA miracle, is the supposed photo they have of bin Landen’s bloodied, beaten, dead body. As you can see in the photos above, how surprisingly similar it is in pose and lighting to another of live bin Laden. And since when did dead bodies show so much facial expression?

The second thing that has me starting to question the authenticity of this event is that the body has conveniently been disposed of…because this piece of shit needed a proper funeral? I don’t think so.

And I don’t think we were told the truth, the whole truth, but anything but the truth!

There are a few assumptions floating out there in cyber space as to what may have really happened. First, obviously this man would be extremely valuable alive for his extensive knowledge of the inner workings of Al Qaeda – especially the top end of it. However, there are international laws against tourture, extradition laws, and idiotic nitwits that would think he should have some sort of humanistic rights. To side step all this legality and humanity of it all, why not just make a picture showing his dead body (that looks beaten, despite reports he was supposedly shot) and say his body was dumped at sea.

Second, and more conspiracy theory-ish, is that bin Laden was not assassinated, nor was he captured and this is just an attempt to sidetrack us into thinking the country is safe. Think what you will here and fill in your own conspiracy theory…

Finally I wanted to end by saying how annoyingly arrogant of a president we have, that he would have the gull to stand in front of the nation and take full credit for this event as if he himself had gone to Pakistan and killed bin Laden. “It was my decision...” “I made the call…” “the [secret six] acted on my authority…”

Don't Mess With My Egg

2011-04-25T13:52:00.000-05:00

You know what I wish I could do when my niece acts up? I wish I could just call the cops and have her handcuffed and hauled away. I mean, who wants to deal with a tantrum-having-child? I certainly don't. What do you do to calm them down? Sure, you could scold them and put them in time-out until they calm down enough to hear what you're saying, but who wants to deal with that.

That's why I applaud the police and school staff in Queens who put handcuffs on this seven year old child when he began throwing a tantrum because he wasn't able to paint his egg the way he wanted it to be. Nevermind that the mother was already on her way to pick the child up. Why should they wait. This angry child was a threat to the joyous spirit of easter. That is just unacceptable. Didn't he know that other kids were trying to paint their eggs in peace? Didn't he know that the staff may not be able to deal with the fact that a seven year old doesn't rationally think out his actions? What an inconsiderate child. Obviously the only answer is to take him to the hospital like he's hopped up on drugs and training to be the next BTK serial killer.

The moral of the story to me? Maybe you'll think twice next time you want to cut the art department out of the curriculum.

Isn't It Ironic

2011-04-20T15:09:00.000-05:00

In high school I had a conversation with one of my
classmates about the meaning of irony. She just didn't get it. I tried everything I could think of to explain it to her.

Me: You know when something bad happens but the way it happened/the end result of it makes it a tad bit funny?

Idiot girl: I have no idea what you mean...

Me: *sigh* Okay, you know when something happens to someone and they tell you about it, and you kind of chuckle and say 'ha, man that sucks..'

Idiot girl: Why would I laugh when something bad happens to someone else?

Me: Because sometimes it's funny.

Idiotic overly empathetic girl: But it's not funny.

Me: You know the Alanis Morissette song? (Yes, I went there. I had no choice by this point.)

I then went on to go through the song lyric by lyric, stanza by stanza, word by annoying word, and explain to her why these things described irony.

I wish I knew her today because I have finally found the answer to her question.

It's like forgetting to put a quarter in the meter and coming back after ten minutes to find out that you have a five dollar ticket on your windshield.

Isn't it ironic?

Don't you think?

It's Probably Not True Love

2011-04-19T19:34:00.000-05:00

We've all been on them. Whether or not it's because your mother thinks you're too lonely, or you've just lost a bet with your best friend about who can take the most shots of tequila in a row without puking. Maybe you really though it was a good idea at first but then realized that you'd rather be melting your fingernails off with a Bic lighter than continue your current torture.

Bad dates.

So how do you swiftly end the evening without turning your hands into a scabby mess that will screw up your chances of actually going out with someone decent?

Here's some things I like to do. These make sure I'm not asked out again and entertain me until I can go home, get drunk and booty-call my last boyfriend because I suddenly realized maybe he's not so bad after all.

1.) Babies. Talk about babies. Talk about having babies, talk about your biological clock ticking away inside of your ready uterus, talk about how cute it is when they snot/puke/drool/coo/poop on you. *Talk about the adorable physical features that your mutual baby will have.*

2.) Inform him, in full detail, how your period (or 'womanly time of the month' if you're feeling nice) affects you both physically and emotionally. I suggest adding personalized stories like, Oh. My. God. A few weeks ago my friend Peggy and I were about to start our 'womanly time of the month' at the same time! Boy was that a funny week. But it wasn't funny at the time because we were sooooo cranky. We got into so many fights. About nothing! We had a fight about whether or not my cat was bright orange or had faded since it got older. Boy, was I mad!....... ......

3.) Excuse yourself to the bathroom at least five times. Tell him it's because you prefer to throw up your food instead of getting fat. Also inform him that he'll appreciate it when you two get married. This might get you a second date, though. I heard that guys love talking about marriage with a woman they just met. Also, be careful on the baby subject.

4.) Excuse yourself to the bathroom at least five times. Tell him that you are lactose intolerant, and that the glass of milk you had earlier is finally 'making it's way out' and that boy are you glad that the gassy stage is finally over. Then continue to describe to him exactly how it feels when this happens. Luckily for you I happen to be lactose intolerant so I can tell you. It feels like the beginning stage of 'Oh fuck I'm about to get diarrhea' mixed with horrible menstrual cramps.

5.) Since he probably doesn't know what menstrual cramps feel like you should feel obligated to fill him in on the details now.

6.) Pick your nose/blow your nose/fart/burp/suck snot through your nose and swallow it/bite your nail and spit it out onto the floor/start picking at your toenails/all of the above.

If all of the above fail, and he is still showing interest in your less than appealing personality, try this:

6a.) Grab a knife and place it against your skin until there is an indentation but no breakage. Sigh, look at him, and say, 'I know I shouldn't. I stopped a long time ago but sometimes I just like to feel the knife against my arm. It's like it makes the pain almost go away. Maybe just a small cut. *sigh* No, I guess I'd better not.' Next, ask him to take you home because you suddenly remember that you have 'pressing' matters to attend to. Use air quotes. Everybody loves air quotes. He'll think you're hilarious and take you to meet his mom right away.

*6b.) ...begin talking to yourself in muttering tones until you suddenly look up at him and say, 'Shit! I forgot to take my medication! You'd better take me home!' *

And next time use the lime when shooting the tequila. It'll help curb the gag reflex.

** Provided for you by Smichelle

You Won't Be Able To Keep It In Your Pants

2011-04-18T14:26:00.000-05:00

On Saturday I went to a party whose purpose was to spread Scurvy awareness (did you know that around three people a year are diagnosed with Scurvy?). It began at two and I decided that it was my duty to humanity to show up and drink in the honor of those poor people with a Vitamin C deficiency.

I told you it started at two, right?

Towards the end-ish part of the evening, I decided it was my duty to inform one of my new friends what is going to happen to her vagina in the next few years. She was twenty-two, and I'm closer to thirty than twenty. From the time I was twenty-two until now I have become a horny sonofabitch. Like, it's pretty much Christmas morning everytime my boyfriend gets a boner. Except instead of unwrapping, I wrap (it's cool to be safe).

This girl was absolutely enthralled. She didn't understand how she could possibly be hornier than she was at her current age. I felt that way too, I told her. I'm not even at thirty yet, so my vagina is going to be like a rabid zombie looking for brains by the time I get there.

I just wanted her to know the ~~curse~~ joys that await her in the coming years.

Come One, Come All To The Boobies Show!

2011-04-13T20:06:00.000-05:00

I love compliments. I love compliments. I love compliments.

Sorry, it was just making me laugh to do that.

However, I really do love compliments.

Last weekend I got one from a co-worker of mine. She told me that she had facebook stalked me. 'You used to be really fucking hot!' she said. My response was, 'I know!' She was all, 'Are you going to dye your hair blonde again?!' To which I was like, 'I just might now!!!!'

(Sorry, my IQ also goes down a little when someone starts to compliment me on my looks too much. I'm, like, really sorry....)

I figured this would be a good enough story to start off the post in which I get to tell you that Mrs Hyde gave me an award!!!

Fuck Yeah!!!!!

It is the Nice Rack award!

It is also a chance for all of us bloggers to show off our boobies.

I haven't put any pictures up of myself on this blog because, well, it's more or less anonymous.

But don't fear. I have come up with a solution. While my paint skills aren't as good as those at A Beer For The Shower, I think I have made myself quite pretty. And you get to look at my boobs.

One has cleavage, the other doesn't. Every preference should be met.

Ready?

Me too.

Look, mom! I'm a 1920's movie star!

Hmmm.... Too far, maybe?

I figured using this one was just appropriate.

I am going to award this to one female and one male (because I refuse to discriminate. Men like to show their boobies too).

I'm going to give this to:

Sandra at Absolutely Narcissism because she's awesome and has nice boobs

and

Bruce's EvilTwin at Stupid Stuff I See and Hear because I think this is the more appropriate of his blogs as far as this award is concerned.

Now to finish my story from above. I thought about what my friend said, and decided not to be sad about the used to be hot comment. We talked it over and I told her that I just had a bit of "ex-boyfriend" weight going on. My excuse for this is that I had already begun getting my life together when we broke up for good so I didn't have the emotional need to lose weight to prove I was okay. Unfortunately I've got about twenty pounds that needs to go for the sake of my wasteline. I've already been working on that, but you will all be happy to know that I will, indeed be taking my hair back to the land of blonde. Until I get bored and take it to the land of red. Until I get bored and take it to...

I'll figure something out eventually.

Oh, and I just like blaming things on my ex. I find it satisfying and fun.

Lying Only Helps Other People Win

2011-04-13T13:19:00.000-05:00

Since our lease is almost up, our landlord has once again begun telling us that the roaches are our fault.

Both Shmichelle and I are extremely fed up with this. We contacted the city offices for advice, and then tried to set up a face to face meeting with him so that we could deliver a written, signed letter insisting that this problem be completely taken care of within fourteen days.

Once: he said he was busy, and turned us down.

Twice: he said that he would not be able to have a meeting, and turned us down.

Thrice! he said that he was not interested in talking about how we want out of our lease early, and turned us down.

All in the same day. I've dealt with rejection before but I think the whole 'woman scorned' thing is going to have to come into effect here.

I hope we get this lying bastard of a man. I hope we get him good!

*As far as this subject goes, though, I think that this is the furthest I'm going to discuss this on here just in case. But don't you worry, bloggers, don't you worry. Once this is all said and done I will give you a post with such juicy details you will never have to read another gossip magazine again.

Beware: There's A Lot Of Fuck In Here

2011-04-08T23:44:00.000-05:00

I usually try and post humorous and funny shit.

I don't think I can do that tonight.

Before I went to work I spent a few hours watching videos about Ivory Coast (Cote D'Ivoire) on the internet.

This was probably a mistake.

As most of you know, I spent my childhood there as a missionary kid. I've always had forlorn memories about the country; specifically Abidjan, Yamossoukro, and Buoake.

Abidjan is the city I lived in, Bouake is the city in which my oldest sister went to boarding school, and Yamossoukro is the old capital. We also used to go there once a year for a missions conference and passed through it on the way to Buoake.

Geography lesson over.

I am distraught. I have spent the past however many years living with my glorified memories about Africa. My childhood memories if you will.

Today I feel as if those were completely shattered. I pretty much spent the afternoon watching my childhood home being destroyed over and over again.

Then, I became angry. This has been going on for a long time. This time it has been bad since september, but I know for a fact that the missionaries were evacuated a couple years after we left.

It has rarely been in the news until now.

The US is doing nothing about it as far as I know.

That's cool, though. I'm sure the middle east needs our help much much more that the Ivory Coast.

But our war isn't about oil.

Right?

Who gives a fuck about cocoa beans.

The inner EvilTwin in me wants to say:

Fuckity Fuck Fuckity Fuck Fuck Fuck.

It's all a bunch of shit.

I may have a some whiskey....
Or lots of whiskey.....

But it's still shit.

Shouldn't our fake war for democracy extend to this?

Fuck.

When In Rome....Again...

2011-04-07T15:38:00.000-05:00

This is not because I'm feeling super lazy today. I just thought you all would like to enjoy something I've already written. I'm really thinking of you.

You're welcome.

Now enjoy this repost.

When In Rome, Find Out What They Don't Want You To Do So You Can Annoy Them

Everyone knows that sudden urge to rebel when someone tells you not to do something. Personally, I get a very strong urge to push a person's face into the dirt when they tell me to do (or not do) something. I think it's called problems with authority. Just ask Shmony and Shmjason.

What it you knew of magical laws across the United States that are just asking to be broken?

Never fear, bloggers, never fear. I can help you.

To read a much larger list of stupid laws, click here. For now, I have compiled a bit of an appetizer for you before heading out into the webs of inter to check it out for yourself.

FLORIDA

If an elephant is left tied to a parking meter, the parking fee has to be paid just as it would for a vehicle
Do they charge extra for over sized anim vehicles? And if it's a baby elephant can it be parked like a motorcycle?

NEW YORK

The penalty for jumping off a building is death.
If you don't die on the first attempt do they just take you back up to the top and push you off again?

NORTH DAKOTA

Beer and pretzels can't be served at the same time in any bar or restaurant.
Can they be served separately and consumed at the same time? Do you have to finish your beer before being allowed to eat a pretzel? Can you share your neighbor's pretzels? Ah, this is too complicated. We'll just serve peanuts.

It is illegal to lie down and fall asleep with your shoes on.
Next time you fuck with someone after they've passed out drunk with their shoes on in North Dakota, you can inform them that it was your civil duty to do so.

TEXAS

A recently passed anticrime law requires criminals to give their victims 24 hours notice, either orally or in writing, and to explain the nature of the crime to be committed.
Dear City Bank, I will be robbing you at approximately three p.m. on the third of May. My reason is that I am tired of not being able to pay my mortgage due to the large amounts of cocaine I have to purchase to feed my habit, and I just thought that since you have so much cash on hand it wouldn't be a big deal. You will know me by the black mask with eyeholes that I will be wearing, and the orange daisy which will be pinned to my black sweatshirt.

The entire Encyclopedia Britannica is banned in Texas because it contains a formula for making beer at home.
Did they ban the internet too? Because I'm pretty sure that there are plenty of webpages that tell you how to make beer.

And my favorite.....

ALABAMA

It is illegal to wear a fake mustache that causes laughter in church
Are you kidding? How else are you supposed to enjoy church. Have you ever sat through a sermon? Much more enjoyable when wearing a fake mustache that is causing seven year old next to you to burst into fits of loud, inappropriate giggles.

Not That Guy Again!

2011-04-06T13:30:00.000-05:00

I've always hated four-way stops. They are like russian roulette. Or in high school when you really didn't want to get stuck with 'that guy' as your lab partner.

Every time I get to one I stop my car and look around. I judge the other cars based on their appearance, and the age of their drivers. Knowing that one of them is destined to get in front of me, I wait with baited breath to find out who I'm going to be stuck with for the next five blocks.

Could it be that shiny black Corolla with the douchey sunglasses guy even though it's cloudy with a ninety percent chance of rain?

What about the stereotypical Buick with the man who look like he's pounding on death's door begging to be let in?

Maybe it's the minivan with the woman who's constantly pushing her Yorkie off her lap because she hasn't discovered doggie seat belts yet.

Shit.

I got the cement truck that goes five miles an hour even though it is safe to drive thirty miles an hour or above.

I really hope no one from my insurance company ever looks inside my car because I'm going to have an extremely tough time explaining huge dent in my steering wheel from where I banged my head so many times.

Hey. I was going five miles an hour. It was perfectly safe to do that.

Thanks Wal-Mart, I Mean Marketside.

2011-04-05T13:12:00.001-05:00

Dear Marketside:

I wanted to thank you for the lovely loaf of bread that my roommate bought. How did you know that we were trying to eat healthy?

I really just hate it when I get a loaf of bread and it's way too full of, well, bread. All those terrible carbs that I am forced to put on my sandwiches. I've been waiting for someone to take action and fix this problem for me.

Then you come along, Marketside. You come along with your wisdom and empathy towards our personal needs. How did you know that putting a large hole 3/4ths of the way through the loaf would help us lose weight and feel better about ourselves? You are the smartest, prettiest and simply by far the best company we have ever purchased from. I tell you what. I am a lifelong customer now.

Since we have become so close in the last hour, I'd like to bring something up.

I'm worried about you.

I know that there's a whole lot of hoo-ha in the copywrite/not-ripping-people-off department in this country. I'm worried that you might have stolen this idea from one of the millions of clever 'Ten Tips To Lose Weight Fast' articles I've seen all over MSN.com.

Since we're friends and I don't want you to get in trouble, I thought I should bring this to your attention. I don't want some blogger or small time magazine journalist out there suing you. They might obtain rights to your company and begin making whole loaves of bread again.

We can't have that.

Anyway, thanks again for being so considerate of the low-carb needs out there. You really are the best.

Love and kisses,
(XOXOXOXO)

Kara and Shmishelle

Capstone Accomplished

2011-04-02T12:23:00.000-05:00

I have to say, I feel better today than I have in quite awhile.

I had to take the History Capstone, and ended up having a really great time. What better way to spend a Saturday morning than in a room full of pompous ass Historians who have been trained to look an historical events and analyze/break down/make fun of them to the most thorough degree.

I really did have a good time, though. I was a bit worried about this test, but it was more of an intensely in-depth class discussion.

Plus, I haven't done anything too mentally challenging all year. I had begun to feel a bit down on myself because I felt that I wasn't doing anything constructive. Mainly I felt like a loser. The past few days have revamped some pride in me that had been dwindling away for quite some time. I remembered that I enjoyed doing this. I remembered that I am good at this. 'This' pretty much encompasses all the studying and analyzing that I have done over the past four days. 'This' made me feel good about myself again. 'This' gave me new motivation to look towards the future instead of the now.

Plus, the woman teaching the class gave me a great compliment.

Well you're just coming up with all sorts of great ideas over there.

She's one of those awkward women who you are surprised to find out that she has a husband instead of twenty cats. The ones that barely hang on to the basis of their social skills in order to communicate.

Mainly, the type of person that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside when they tell you that you're any sort of smart, when you would have just felt sarcasm and mocking if anyone else had said it.

Best part of the day, though?

They totally gave us pizza.

I'm Sorry, Do You Pronounce That Tomato, Or Tomato?

2011-03-30T14:08:00.000-05:00

I am going to be busy the rest of this week so posting will be sparse. I missed the History Capstone last year, and it is only offered once every spring. I need this class to obtain my pieces of paper that will tell the world I have achieved the status of minor league Historian and Sociologist.

Correction. There are either going to be very few posts, or lots and lots of them in which I am a very opinionated pompous ass.

The discussion part of this course surrounds the issues of History itself. I don't know how many of you have taken History courses, but it is very common to have completely opposing views on the same subject, sometimes using the same details for your personal argument. I personally like to think of History as gossiping about the past.

Nonetheless, it can become confusing if you aren't taught to analyze the data and come to your own conclusion; often making it even more confusing for someone else.

One of the questions posed is this:

Should Historians analyze the past or simply commemorate it? Should they be held accountable to "patriotically correct" interests?

I'm not cheating by asking you what I'm about to ask. I already have my own very strong opinions on this subject, which I will nervously stammer proudly to the class on Saturday.

I want to know what you all think about this.

This Is What I Would Have Liked To Say To You

2011-03-28T18:44:00.001-05:00

We all like to people watch, right?

Of course we do. That's why we all have blogs. It's a safe place to make fun of those random people you see in your daily lives. It's just not polite to call strangers out on being idiots, so we resort to drunken nights with friends, boring hours with co-workers and, of course, the internet.

Before you read this; don't judge me. Haven't you ever read a magazine? It's full of this shit and you would probably pay money for it.

I have two people that I have 'observed' over the weekend.

The first:

I went to the gas station near my apartment before work at some point withing the last five days. I worked till the wee hours in the morning for multiple days in a row so they blended together. Now none of the memories have days attached to them. They simply belong to 'some day last week.'

I knew that we would be busy so I felt like that the one cigarette I was about to smoke would not be enough to get me through my shift. Off to the gas station I went and was waiting in line when I heard the woman in front of me:

I just LOVE you haircut! It is soooooo cute!!!

I happened to know the girl working behind the counter. She had worked at Shmupplebees as a host for a short while. One of those people that is nice enough but didn't make the right amount of impression (positive impression at least) on me to remain in my life on a personal basis.

Given, her hair did look cute. But judging by the expression on her face she didn't know the customer well enough for the compliment to matter. She looked mainly weirded out by it. I picked up on this and decided that the woman in front of me was not the type I want to be around. I was justified in this by the comment she made immediately afterwards. On her cell phone. Which she was on. The. Entire. Time. She. Was. In. The. Gas. Station. The. Entire. Time.

Yeah I know! I've always told my mom that I've never met a stranger in my life!

I've heard this phrase before. I know your type gas station going woman.

This may shock you.

Seriously. Sit down.

You're fucking annoying.

I have met strangers. They are people I don't know. They are the people that I don't know which I respect enough to acknowledge I don't know. They are the people I don't know that I don't talk to. Because they don't want to talk to me.

Bitch, I don't want to talk to you. Neither does the woman working behind the counter with the cute haircut. She wants her boyfriend to compliment her. Not you. You have now just scared her. And you have now just convinced yourself, once again, that you have 'never met a stranger.'

To all these people I say this:

Just because you think social boundaries are only there to bring you down, they are not. They are there because that is how the majority of society has been taught to interact, and feels comfortable interacting. I repeat; you are annoying. Stop, just stop.

Number two:

I was at the theater last night following through with my bet. I bought the tickets, then stopped to get some popcorn and Diet Coke. While walking away I overheard/eavesdropped the man behind me saying:

Um...yes we bought the combo. The large combo. The drink needs to be a Coke Zero.

I'm going to end the second part of the story here. I think his comment says enough about him.

I will not end it, however, without giving my rebuttal.

Sir, I say to you. Ordering Coke Zero does not make you manlier than ordering Diet Coke. You now sound like even more of a deuchebag than you would have if you had just ordered the normal delicious zero calorie drink in the first place.

Although in retrospect, he was probably just being nice and ordering his wife's drink.

Right?

I Admit Defeat

2011-03-27T14:28:00.000-05:00

Today I lost a bet.

The last time it snowed I was bound and determined that it would be the last time this year. My boyfriend disagreed so we bet a dinner and movie of the winner's choice.

We woke up today to the lovely sight of little flakes of defeat floating down from the sky. I'm pretty sure they were mocking me the entire way down. Cliques of snowflakes whirling together just talking about how wrong I was and making fun of me for thinking that they wouldn't be back one more time this year.

My roommate even came home to inform me that it was snowing. Looking back I don't think she came to the apartment for anything besides that. She just stood and helped my boyfriend gloat then left.

I'm not a sore loser (I'm totally pouting right now) so I send this out into the internet.

I was wrong.

Pending Disaster Could Ensue

2011-03-24T16:30:00.001-05:00

We all use Facebook for the same reason. To stalk the people we had crushes on in high school and to see if they became fat. Or to make sure that you are aging the best out of your graduating class. Or to see if that guy you hooked up with last night is really single. Or to make sure your ex is still miserable without you. Or to--

Okay, you get my point. If not, re-read the first paragraph.

Stalking. I use Facebook for stalking. You use Facebook for stalking. Santa Clause uses Facebook to stalk the little boys and girls and make sure they're being good and not bad (hmmm.....).

We all stalk on Facebook. Even your mom. Maybe that's just my mom.

What I am always afraid is going to happen, though, is that I am going to type someone's name into the status bar instead of the search bar.

Why was your status 'Bob Smith'?

Ummm....That's the name of the new character I have just come up with. I'm trying to personalize him more in my mind and make him real.

Didn't you date a Bob Smith in high school?

No.

Yeah you did. I have pictures of you at the winter dance your Sophomore year.

No you don't....

You can see how this could potentially become awkward.

Speaking of Bob Smith, I'm going to go find out what he's been up to lately...

When Stealing, At Least Leave The Keys

2011-03-23T13:23:00.000-05:00

A few years ago my friend came up to drink with me the night before my birthday. We went to local bar and proceeded to have one, two, three, etc. too many drinks. I blame the drinks for the fact that I forgot my jacket on the back of the bar stool I had been previously planting my ass on.

I went back to the bar the next day to look for it. It wasn't a special jacket to me or anything but I was very sad about losing it because my keys had been inside one of the pockets.

Couldn't find it.

Some asshole stole my jacket. Thanks to that asshole I couldn't drive my car.

I called the University Police and told them I had locked my keys on the inside of the car so they would come open the door for me. That way I would at least have access to my belongings.

I called the dealership I had purchased the car from because, upon purchase, they had told me they would make me a spare key free of charge. I never went to receive this key and was regretting it immensely at this point in time. They told me that, since I didn't have the original key, I would have to physically take my car to a Ford dealership and have them re-key it for me. This means that I had to have someone tow it there since I don't know how to start a car without putting a key into the ignition.

I called my mom and told her what I wanted for my birthday. It would be an expensive present (it is apparently more than a couple hundred dollars to re-key a car) but I couldn't pay for it myself and I really wanted to be able to drive my car.

I waited impatiently for the tow truck to arrive. He finally did and manually put my car in neutral. He hooked it up to his truck and was pulling it out of the parking space when I received a call from my sister. The person who stole my jacket didn't want my keys so they had thrown them on the sidewalk around the bar. Some kind person had taken them to the police station. The Hastings card that I had on my key chain was for my sister's account so they contacted her, after which she contacted me.

I ran out into the parking lot shouting, WAIT!!!!, and informed him that I did not need my car to be towed.

While my present that year decreased immensely in monetary value at that point, my mom gave me the sixty bucks it cost to pull my car out of a parking space and push it back.

I went and had them make me my free spare key the next day.

Like A Good Neighbor, State Farm Will Have A Backup Story

2011-03-22T15:57:00.000-05:00

I went to go speak with my insurance agent at the State Farm office in town today. My payment is due tomorrow but I wanted to see about adding renter's insurance on as well.

You know the phrase You learn something new every day?

I found out that for the very low price of nine bucks a month I can burn down my entire complex and be covered for $500,000 worth of damage. Hell yeah!

Maybe I should change my address to Shmupplebees so that when I "accidentally" throw my lit cigarette into the dumpster my ass will be covered.

What? Of course it was an accident. I always have marshmallows and roasting sticks in my car.

Green Beer For All My Friends!

2011-03-17T10:50:00.002-05:00

Yesterday's post had enough Irish in it so I am counting that as my St. Patrick's Day post.

Happy day and top o' the mornin' to ya. (Whatever. Just go with it.)

Now go get drunk.

Who Needs Friends When You Have Your Mom?

2011-03-16T18:17:00.000-05:00

Last night I saw the band Gaelic Storm. You should check them out. Seriously amazing. Trust me. I only lie to you all about half the time. Not only are they extremely talented on every instrument I can imagine, but they were hilarious as well.

My initial plan for the evening was to stay in and attempt to finish Stranger in a Strange Land when my mom called me to see if I had any plans for the evening. She wanted to go see them play and offered to buy my ticket. I didn't really feel like going but I was a good daughter and didn't make my mom go by herself. And it was free. That's like a two-fer.

I even owned it. I saw some of my friends and was all like:
Yeah, I'm rockin' it out with my mommy. Whatcha gonna do about it?!

As a side note: Holy Mother of God I didn't know my mom loved bagpipes so much. I thought she was going to pee her pants when one of the band members brought them out. She started squealing and jumping up and down like a teenie-bopper at a Beatle's concert.

I did learn a couple things last night:

The first was told to me by my mother.
Kara you would never make it in an Irish pub.

To which I retorted,
I went to Finn McCool's in New Orleans and they were so impressed with my Guinness chugging skills that they took a picture of me.

So there.

And I have wooden medals from every drinking contest I entered.

How dare she not be proud of me.

Secondly, I think I may be a shame to that woman's vagina. I don't know how I came out of there not having the concert skills she has. She was all about the cheering, clapping, singing along, ect. I was all about swaying slightly and tapping my hands on my thighs. I learned this one through shame and observation.

Thank God I inherited the same aging skills that she has. I may never be the life of a concert, but I will still be damn pretty when I'm in my fifties.

Harry Potter And The Deathly Pillows

2011-03-12T15:31:00.000-06:00

Have you ever heard of a flash mob?

I'm hungover so go YouTube it. I recommend Do Re Mi in Belgium.

Go. I'll wait.

...
...
..
.

Alright, that's enough. Now come back.
Have you educated yourself completely?

Good.

Now I give you this.

I hate it when impromptu pillow fights threaten my safety.

Spaghetti And A Robbery

2011-03-11T13:56:00.000-06:00

I finally feel better after my week of death. Now everytime I hear someone cough I duck under the nearest table like they just pulled a gun out in a spaghetti restaurant. I ain't catching that shit again. Get away from me.

Speaking of pulling guns out in restaurants:

I was about four when we first moved to Ivory Coast. When I was not much older than that my family and a couple families who were missionaries with us went out to eat. I don't know if it was really a spaghetti restaurant, but I was eating spaghetti and meatballs so for the sake of this story it was.

I tell this story as it has been told unto me.

We were all sitting at our table when a woman and two men came into the restaurant waving guns. Everyone became frightened, as is natural when death is staring you in the face. Everyone ducked under the table for safety when my mom saw a tiny pair of dangling legs. Yes, I was apparently unfazed by the current happenings and was still sitting in the chair enjoying my delicious plate of noodles and sauce.

My mother screamed a scream of horror and shock. She pulled me onto the floor with the rest of them. I was safe but most likely unhappy that my dinner was interrupted. It's not like they actually shot anyone.

Yes, we were all safe as was everyone in the restaurant (if I remember correctly at least), but this story is one of those 'cute' childhood stories that still haunts me. Even when we were in Africa we would drive by the restaurant and my mom would say, Oh look! There's the place where Kara kept eating her spaghetti even though we were trying to hide from the big bad people with guns.

Then everyone would laugh and I would sit in the backseat and wonder when this story would cease to exist from my life.

The answer is never, my friends. Never.

What are some of your childhood stories that you still have to hear over. and over. and over. and over again?

A Tale Of A Puppy

2011-03-09T13:50:00.000-06:00

I would like to start by wishing a Happy Birthday to my beautiful niece. She turns eight years old today and is the smartest, most wonderful child in the world. Hey, everyone deserves praise on their special day.

Also, thanks to her birthday I was able to help out a lost dog. I was trying to remember where my sister is student teaching, and tried the Middle School in town. She was not there, but a chocolate lab was running around in front of the building. Beautiful dog. It sat for me and didn't try and tear my hand off when I reached for his collar so I figured he was safe.

Are you my mommy?

I went inside and informed the office. I still didn't want to leave the dog when I went outside, so I called the only number on his collar. It was the number to a vet's office in Payola Kansas. I do not live in Payola so I was praying that the owner did not live there either. The vet gave me the number to the lady who owns the lab, and I left her a voicemail instructing her to either call the animal shelter in town or the middle school.

The woman who works in the office came out and told me that neither the cops or the employees at the shelter could come pick this dog up. The cops just didn't want to, I think, and the shelter was short-staffed. At my request she found me some yarn that I used as a leash (terrible leashes by the way. Don't use yarn. Especially with big dogs. Your hands will hurt. Trust me), and I loaded my new friend into the passenger seat of my car.

Luckily the animal shelter is near impossible to find, for me at least. I have tried before this and always have problems. Maybe it's only there when you aren't looking for it. I say luckily this time, though, because I checked my phone and my new friend Pam had called me back. She didn't follow my instructions, but that's probably good since I still had her dog.

I met her son's girlfriend back at the middle school. I know that the dog knew her because he pretty much tried to jump out the window when he saw her. My window. The one I was sitting by. I think of it as our last hug. A sweet and bruise-worthy farewell.

So the public service announcement for today? Don't leave your doors open if you have a dog. And if you find a dog don't call the cops. They don't care.

Dear Hell: You Can Have Your Cold Back

2011-03-07T13:37:00.000-06:00

Last week the devil visited me. He handed me a snotty tissue and said, "HA!" Immediately afterwards I began sneezing and coughing up bits of my lung all over the place.

Due to that I haven't posted in awhile.

I have, however, dragged my groggy hacking ass to work. Hey, I need to pay for my booze somehow, right?

Me: Hello, sir. *cough* *cough* *flem* *cough* May I start you out with a Beer or Pepsi?

Man: I would just like a water please.

Me: *achoo* Sorry about that. Could I please have my left lung back. I think I blew it behind your wife's chair.

Man: Yes, here you go. Could I please have a lemon in that water?

Me: Sure thing.

Don't worry. I used tongs to put the lemons in the glasses. Mostly...

Please Do Not Let Your Children Run Free In The Park

2011-03-02T15:10:00.000-06:00

As I've mentioned before, I pick my niece up from school on Wednesdays and keep her for a couple hours. I enjoy this on a few levels. One, I get to spend time with my niece and remind her through cookies and Donkey Kong that I am her favorite aunt (easier than it sounds because my other sister lives in Virginia).

Second, I get to see things like this:

This is not the actual picture because cell phones are not allowed in the school. However, the little girl was pretty much doing this exact same thing.

Every week I see this little girl running all over the place. Trying to run back to the classrooms and falling on her face constantly which I find adorable and hilarious. My guess is that the evil principal of the elementary school told her to put a leash on her kid.

Or the mom was just so fed up that she tricked her kid into thinking she was wearing a really cool fuzzy backpack with a super long tail that mommy held on to.

Either way, it's not working lady. The kid was just running in circles around her mom. The mom kept having to untangle the "tail" and switching hands so the child could keep doing what she did pre-backpack days.

Good luck when she's a teenager.

Oh My Fluttering Heart

2011-03-01T14:50:00.000-06:00

I have given up all of my passions and dreams. I have found love and nothing seems to compare in light of my glorious feelings. I feel like I'm walking on air. I feel like rays of sunshine are smiling down on me and saying, 'Go forth unto this world, little Kara. Go forth and be happy.'

It all began last Wednesday. I had told my mom that I would make her a martini for her birthday. I, however, decided that we should go for something a little more fruity within the martini family. I put my sister in charge of dinner, and I took it upon myself to make something tasty to sip on during the celebration of the day the woman who gave life to me was born.

Upon coming home after dinner I poured some liquid ingredients into a shaker and mixed them up. The end result was then put into a martini glass and immediately placed to my readily waiting lips.

Cosmopolitans.

The sweet delicious nectar of heaven brought down to us by angels sweetly singing martini hymns and carrying leather-bound drink recipe bibles.

After a couple of them I felt like I had found my place within this world. Everything made a fuzzy sort of sense. How could something so delectable make me feel so tipsy with elation? So drunk with splendor? So smashed with the wonder of it all?

Such feelings of purity. I will never love again.

All The Early Bird Gets Is Boredom

2011-02-27T12:12:00.000-06:00

Ever wake up early for no reason at all?

I realize that the majority of the world wakes up early each morning. I, however, am not one of them. I'm more of a night person, which makes it difficult to be a morning person.

Today I woke up at eight o'clock. Wait. I woke up and got out of bed at eight o'clock this morning. Seriously, I think I deserve some kind of medal for this. I took a shower, made myself breakfast and cleaned the entire apartment including my room (and closet). Unfortunately, I don't have anything else to do now. I don't even have a made up list to go off of.

I did get to call my sister at eight-thirty this morning. She likes to play this game where she calls me when she knows I'm still in bed just to annoy me. I was hoping that she was still asleep. My plan was to scream into the phone, "How's it feel, sucker?!?!"

She was up making breakfast already so she didn't answer. She did call me back a half hour later, though. She was worried that I needed a ride to the hospital since I called her so early.

Is There An Online Course For This?

2011-02-25T15:35:00.000-06:00

Do you speak teen?

Would you like to learn?

According to this article, there is a language barrier that is responsible for the communication void between teenagers and their parents.

To help, two phychologists co-authored a book titled Teenage as a Second Language: A Parent’s Guide to Becoming Bilingual. The book suggests that learning to speak "teen" is the same as learning to speak French or Spanish.

Need examples?

1. ) "Whatever"

•An expression that implies that a teen may give in but is not really interested in what is being said
•An attempt to be dismissive in as few words as possible.

Suggested Parental Response: Leave this alone. Do not let your own concern that your teen may be less than thrilled create an unnecessary controversy.

3.) "Fine"

•I will reluctantly consent, but not with pleasure.
•An intentionally vague description used when teenager clearly has no interest in providing further detail.

Suggested Parental Response: None needed. You have made your wishes known.

You need a book to tell you this? I remember being a teenager. It was like someone injected an overdose of hormones into my veins and left me to fend for myself in the desert without any water. It was awful. Of course I didn't know how to communicate my feelings. There were far too many of them happening at one time for even me to know what they were. Plus, at this age you are trying to learn how to think rationally and communicate reasonably. While dealing with a Sasquatch of emotional clusterfuck.

Need advice on how to deal with your teenage monster? Ask your mom how you acted when you were that age and see if she answers with, "Oh we read a book on how to communicate with you and everything was a field of sunshine and smiles from then on."

This article did leave me with a few unanswered questions overall. Is it called Teeneze, Teenish or Teenan? And can I get this through Rosetta Stone?

We Need To Stand Together!!

2011-02-24T15:40:00.000-06:00

Dear blogger friends,
(and random people who googled Klondike Bar and ended up on this site)

Today I would like to address a rising epidemic in this country. I feel that this could be the true demise of our nation as a whole, and we need to bring it out into the open so that we can stop it where it stands. Many people are afraid to talk about it. Many just don't want to be the one to stand up and say, 'Please stop. You're just embarrassing yourself.'

But I stand (sit) before you today and proudly shout (type) to the world:

Stop fucking doing duckface! You look like a deformed pensive moron who's expression is preceded by a valley-style 'Uh.....whaat?'

In case you are confused as to what I am talking about (I doubt anyone is confused as to what I'm talking about) here is the Urban Dictionary definition of duckface.

Duckface:

A term used to describe the face made if you push your lips together in a combination of a pout and a pucker, giving the impression you have larger cheekbones and bigger lips.

Translation? You look like an idiot.

Stop Copying Me!!!

Thank God that there are websites willing to bring this to the attention of stoners and slackers everywhere. I mean, it's true that those cursed by this horrible disease are most likely out spreading the virus rather than sitting at home surfing the web, but slowly we can get their attention if enough people realize that this behavior is self-destructive and contradictory to their duckface cause.

Thanks to AntiDuckface.com we can see firsthand the damage that these girls have done to their reputation. My favorite?

If I do duckface will I give birth to a wallet as well?

See, Mom, I don't even need a job!

I beg you. Let us stand together and keep this country from falling apart over something so easily cured. Next time you see someone posing in this manner walk up to them and say, 'Stop. It.'

Of course I won't because I think it's funny to keep letting them make idiots of themselves.

*Not enough duckface for you? Check out this video.

Would You Like A Side Of Love For Fifty Cents More?

2011-02-23T13:54:00.000-06:00

At Shmupplebees our menu changes roughly every three months or so. We have to go to an early meeting to 'learn about the food,' but really we just watch the same videos as every other meeting we've had.

To help us sell the over-priced/under-tasting items to our tables, we are taught about 'sizzle words.' These are words that can be used to make the food sound better than it actually is.

Would you like to try our creamy spinach dip today?
(Would you like to try our dip which I really don't like because it may as well be a thick spinach soup?)

One time (and I really wish I had stolen one of these menus so I could show it to people) we were sitting at one of these meetings going over the 'sizzle words' in the descriptions on the newest menu. The description of the Nachos was pretty much the same as always, with one exception. After the reader bypasses the usual chips/cheese/jalapenos/pico/etc. he encounters an add-on.

...with a side of love.

With a side of what?

I don't know about you, but that does not sound appetizing to me. I've heard of cooks putting a 'side of love' on things*, but I don't think it should be advertised in the menu. That's just unsanitary.

*I have never seen a cook do this at my restaurant if that makes you feel better. It probably does happen at other places, though. Be nice to your server.

100th Post

2011-02-22T13:00:00.000-06:00

I thought long and hard about what to do for my 100th post.

Then I said fuck it.

Here's some kittens.

Thanks for all your comments! You guys are awesome!

Check Yes No Or Maybe

2011-02-21T16:41:00.001-06:00

We all have our first loves, right? And no, I'm not talking about my feelings for the magical hair products that Justin Beiber uses. I'm talking about that first time that you see that special someone and realize that your life will never be complete without them in it. Maybe he's standing across the room at the water fountain sucking the delicious nectar through his sweet puckered mouth. Maybe he's sitting on a park bench in front of a sparkling pond on a warm summer's eve. Or maybe you met him in the third grade and he broke your heart.

Okay, that's a little melodramatic, but the first crush I ever tried to do anything about didn't go very well for me.

Does anyone remember passing these kinds of notes in elementary school?

I don't know if that's how children try and get each other's attention in today's young society. They probably have a phone app that sends it for them. When I was in third grade, though, We had to write this out on a piece of paper, hide it in the person's desk/backpack, and decide whether to put our own names on it or let our friends slowly let the person know gave them the note through deciphered giggles.

I put my name on it.

He threw it in the trash.

Maybe the guy on the park bench will like me more.

**Also, I was asked to share an article with all of you reading this. It is about the top reasons that people choose to buy a home over renting. I went over to look at it and it has some pretty useful tips if you are interested in that. If so, you can check it out here. No, I did not get paid to do this. Yes, if someone offered to pay me to put something like that up I'd probably do it. I smoke cigarettes. It's an expensive habit.

Dumbo Fly Me Away To Success!

2011-02-17T15:33:00.000-06:00

One of my favorite parts of history is looking back on the media of certain periods and comparing them to the social view of the time. I also like to look at current commercials and television shows and see what truths they hold within the social stigmas we have today.

So what can you learn from television? Women are strong but still feminine. They are storming in and taking their place in the world.

Until a man comes and sweeps them off their feet that is.

If a woman is portrayed as highly successful then a string of sad broken relationships is written into her past.

A couple months ago I was at work and heard one of my female co-workers saying, 'I wish I could just get a millionaire to fall in love with me. Then my life would be better.'

To which I replied, 'I don't want a rich man to fall in love with me. I want to become rich on my own.'

I think that's what I said. The way the girl looked at me I might have actually said, 'I don't want a rich man to fall in love with me. I want to fly with Dumbo and poop on a throne.'

I must work on my annunciation.

Oh My Brave Brave Sister....

2011-02-16T18:03:00.000-06:00

CkretsGalore at Kick Her Right In The Habit gave me the LOL award. She thinks I'm funny and is double-jointed in her toes so go check her out.

I am in charge of a 7 year old girl today, so I'm feeling a bit lazy regarding this award. If you want to know seven secrets about me go here. If you want this award then comment on this post and call dibs. Or just take it. You deserve it for being awesome.

You can even call it the awesome award if you want, I don't care, because the main thing I am concerned with right now is how someone so small can talk for so long without running out of air.

I usually watch my niece for a couple hours every Wednesday, but my sister has parent-teacher conferences to do tonight so we are hanging out with each other until nine. I'm such a great aunt that I had to find out what her bedtime is and all that 'parenty' stuff. No, I didn't already know. Yes, my sister is very brave to leave her beloved child in my care for such a long period of time. Yes, it's possible that I just watch her to remind my uterus the repercussions of having a baby. Whatever. I'm still helping out and it still counts.

And if you are wondering, I remembered to feed her. I think.....

Free Money? Hell Yeah!

2011-02-15T13:30:00.000-06:00

Does anyone else get these e-mails?

Dear friend,This message might meet you in utmost surprise. However, it's just the urgent need for a foreign partner that made me to contact you for this transaction. I am Mr Buru Onya from Burkina Faso in west Africa. I got your e-mail contacts from website after my extensive search for capable person. I prayed and meditated fervently over it and i committed it into the hands of almighty that you should be the rightful person to help out before I made up my mind to contact you today.

I have the opportunity of transferring the left over fund sum of US$39.500 Million dollars into a foreign account and the said fund belongs to our deceased client. Hence, I am inviting you for a business deal where this money can be shared between us in the ratio of 60/40 if you agree to my business proposal.

Further details of the transfer will be forwarded to you as soon as I receive your return mail. Reply me here for security reasons, Email

(mrburuonya@voila.fr)

Let's review some facts about this.

1. It was sent to undisclosed recipients.

2. I'm pretty sure the IRS would be just a tad bit suspicious of thirty-nine and a half million dollars just magically showing up in my bank account. I'm not paying taxes on your stolen money, buddy.

3. They are from West Africa. It seems that every time I get one of these the person/asswipe sending it resides in that area. The first one I received freaked me the hell out. The "lady" said she was from Ivory Coast. I was in high school and didn't know very much about, well, anything. My friend had to explain to me that the internet is really just a spider-web of all the personal information you've ever put on it and it wouldn't be that difficult to appeal to me by choosing the place I lived as a child. Either that or all these people are just siting in West Africa on hoards of money, and nothing would make them happier than to give me forty percent of it.

4. They just want my bank account number. Then I would have to deal with the guilt of disappointing this nice man. I am a server so I live off of cash. I only go to the bank after dropping my rent check off. The rest of the month I just kind of forget that I even have an account because I don't need to use it.

I've always wondered what would happen if I actually followed through with one of these. I wouldn't suggest trying it, and I am never going to do it either. I'm right under 100% positive that they are just trying to steal my non-existent money/identity, but if you know of any good stories related to this (you can cheat and use Google) e-mail me or leave it in the comments section. I'm always up for some entertainment.

Captcha Magic

2011-02-13T16:32:00.000-06:00

Captcha of the day?

Writioso (Write-chi-o-so)

Whipping out your magic wand and using this spell will cause your brilliant novel to write itself.

I used the Writioso spell and ended up on the best seller list. So much better than the typistastas spell I tried last week.

When Maidens Play

2011-02-12T14:31:00.001-06:00

One magical night a young-ish beautiful maiden by the name of Kara decided to enjoy a few beers at her apartment. She was having a wonderful evening with her roommate, Shmishelle, and their boyfriends when she became very sleepy. Kara was led to a gloriously soft bed where she put her head down on the lovely pillow and closed her drooping brown eyes.

After laying there for a minute, Kara decided that she wanted to wake up a bit so that she could have a cheeseburger. She opened one squinting eye to see how it felt. When a few seconds had passed she felt awake enough to let the other eye peek through its lid. Wrinkling her nose in groggy concentration, Kara reached over to her bookshelf where she had set her goblet of whiskey and diet coke. She took a few deep breaths because, even though her eyes had been closed when her handsome boyfriend had claimed her drink as his own, her maiden ears had heard the prolonged tinkling of extra whiskey being poured into the goblet. Being the strong and brave maiden she was, Kara decided to have a drink of it anyway even though she knew how strong it would be.

She drew the goblet to her lips and gasped as the sour liquid reached her lips. She puckered her lips and set the drink down after taking a large maiden-like gulp from the brimming edge.

Suddenly, Kara knew that something was not right. She took a few more deep breaths but realized that her saliva was collecting in the back corners of her mouth. Trying to ignore it, Kara got up and went to the bathroom to relieve herself (go pee). While sitting on the porcelain throne, she began sucking steady inserts of air into her lungs, trying to make the feeling go away. The whiskey demon was not to be slain, however. Struggling to gather paper from the roll next to her throne, she hurriedly wiped herself before standing up, turning around and relieving herself from a different direction.

Standing there, bent over the throne with her pants clutched between her thighs, the beautiful maiden wished with all her might that no one chose to check on her at this moment for fear that they would her maiden-like behind as soon as they walked in. She continued to dispose of the night's previous beers into the throne until she stood up, pulled her pants up and thought to herself, God. This would make an excellent post for my blog!

Happy Half-Assed Weekend!

Thanks Simple Dude!

Oh HELL No I Won't Bring You Your Beers!

2011-02-11T18:56:00.000-06:00

Remember when I posted about this table? (Read it or this post won't make sense.)

At work last night I picked up a drink ticket, thinking I'd pretend to be a good employee for a few minutes and run some beers. I looked at the table where the two Bud Lights were supposed to go and saw my good friends, Mr. Bud Light, DDD Guy and the bitch who shoved them both out of her lady bits.

Rising above the situation I swiftly put the ticket back onto the bar, said Oh HELL no, and walked away.

I'm mature like that.

I am, in fact, so mature that I am going to post my letter to DDD Guy again.

Enjoy.

Dear Drunk Drunk Drunk guy,

I'm sorry that you are so insecure that you have to treat people like dog-shit when you know they can't say anything back to you. It's really not your fault. I know that you feel bad about yourself because you don't have the looks or charm to make up for the fact that you have a tiny penis. But being a fat deuchebag isn't all that bad. You can be the funny friend if you can learn to properly make jokes. Even better, you can be that guy that your friend really doesn't like, but keeps around to make himself seem that much more attractive to the ladies. It's like community service, you're helping average-looking people get laid too; just not yourself. I'm sorry you can't find anyone except hookers to have sex with you. But the bright side is that even though you can't see your penis, due to muscle memory your hand can find it every time, so you can still get your cookies.

Love,
Kara.

P.S. - Go fuck yourself. You're the only one who will.

What Would Kara Do? Now You Can Find Out!

2011-02-10T15:06:00.000-06:00

Do you often find yourself wondering, What would Kara do (WWKD: buy the bracelet)? I often wonder what the hell is wrong with Kara, I mean myself, but that's just me... (haha...)

And yes, I did have to pause for a second to laugh at that. Some of you guys say you think I'm funny, but I'll bet you I think I'm funnier that you think I am.

Sorry...WWKD.

Well, you're in luck! I put my e-mail at the top of my page so that you can have quick and easy access to the inner thoughts of me. Just send me a message asking a question and what-not and I'll use it to fill up space on my blog/give you the most intelligent and insightful answer of your life.

No, Snow Day, You Won't Get Me Down!

2011-02-09T12:45:00.000-06:00

So yesterday's ....poem?... was definitely not about a cheeseburgers. No one likes cheeseburgers that much.

I'm less cranky, though. I ..made.. myself a cheeseburger so that's taken care of.

Now today I have to deal with the boredom that comes with yet another snow day. You bet my ass (there's not much to bet, I'm sorry) that I'm not going outside to relieve the urge to slowly bang my head against my dvd rack for a half hour. It's cold out there. And there's snow.

Now I know some of you are worried. Some of you may be thinking, But Kara, if you don't go outside today you won't get any sunlight or fresh air. Your beauty may suffer because of it.

Don't worry. I appreciate your concern, but I do go outside every hour or two for some fresh air and sunlight. And a cigarette. So I'm good.

And I used a face mask.

Because I have nothing better to do today.

So..... due to boredom I am going to compile a to-do list.

1. Rearrange the pictures in the apartment and see how long it takes for anyone to notice.

2. Draw caricatures of my cats doing their 'cat' things (i.e. licking their butts, falling off the counters, being pushed off the counters, staring at a string like defeating it will end world hunger...okay the cats don't care about world hunger).

3. Begin drinking (maybe I have already...)

4. Put the absolutely worst movies my roommate and I own on a separate shelf and label said shelf, "Kara's All-Time Favourite Kick-Ass Movies!!!" and see if anyone notices.

5. Make a hat out of newspaper and sit in the bathtub waiting for someone to come in so I can "take their booty!" (Arrg! *Squawk!*)

~~6. Buy a newspaper.~~ (Requires going outside)

6. Write a short story about a girl who is stuck inside on a snow day with a list of kick-ass plans for the day, and chooses to watch Mulan instead.

Ode To The Cheeseburger

2011-02-08T13:11:00.000-06:00

You want to know what I really like?
I really like cheeseburgers.
So much that I get cranky when I don't get a cheeseburger.

I haven't had a cheeseburger in almost a week.

I feel like punching someone.
Anyone.
Maybe even a poor innocent kitty-cat.

I tried to have a cheeseburger last night.
I was turned down.
So now I have to make my own cheeseburger.

It may last long enough for multiple bites,
Or just one bite,
But I will get my damn cheeseburger one way or another.

One Kind Word Can Be Remembered Forever

2011-02-04T13:35:00.000-06:00

I had to move back to Kansas from Africa when I was in sixth grade. It was halfway through the school year and we lived in Johnson County for about a month. We owned a house in a different city but it was being rented at the time so we had to wait for them to move out. I attended an elementary school for two weeks in Kansas City. I know there is a lot of bias towards Johnson County kids here in Kansas, but I want to say that of all I had to deal with after moving, these kids were by far the kindest to me. I know they thought I was weird, because I was. I was a scrawny white kid with huge glasses and weird clothes. I'm sure I stared at everything they found normal like I was a tourist waiting for the short bus to take me around and explain everything, but they were still nice to me.

It sounds simple, but you have to remember that children can be amazingly cruel. Maybe they talked behind my back; most likely a good portion of them have forgotten all about me since I wasn't there for very long, but during my two week stay at that school they took me under their American umbrella of culture and taught me simple things. I didn't know what four-square was; the taught me. I still hate four-square; that's not their fault. Most importantly, they taught me what the magical Little Debbie snacks were. I had never had one, laid eyes on one, touched one, etc. Upon my first bite angels descended into the cafeteria and sang a beautiful Little Debbie Hymn just for me.

I want to extend a thank you to those children. Granted, I don't remember any of their names and they don't remember mine, but I am still grateful to them for the way they took the time to let me know it was okay to be that different from other people.

That is a lesson I didn't fully understand until I moved to Illinois for college.

Probably because the most common things said about me were 'Why isn't she black?' and 'Wow, she learned English really quickly!'

To answer those, living in Africa does not automatically make you black, and we were missionaries so I had the English language down pretty well since that's what I spoke. You're welcome if you were confused.

Can I Buy One Of These At Home Depot?

2011-02-03T16:50:00.001-06:00

You know what really irks my chain?

Bad cell phone reception.

I just hate it when I can't text my latest shananigans to my girlfriends when I want and where I want.

That's why I am so insanely jealous of these folks.

Apparently, the Di Marco family of Long Island has their very own tower right in the front yard of their residence. Lucky bastards.

They say it's an eyesore and a destruction of property value, but I bet they get the best reception of their entire neighborhood. Keeping up with the Jones's?

Pshaw. Keeping up with the Di Marcos is more like it.

Someone Dig The Groundhog Out Of The Hole!

2011-02-02T15:24:00.000-06:00

Oh the weather outside is frightful,

and it fucking sucks out there.

I wish it looked like this outside...

I know, I know. There are plenty of you from states that got hit much worse than we did in Kansas, but I'm a wimp when it comes to snow so I feel like being a whiner.

My toes hurt.

There, I feel better.

To all of you who got it so much worse than we did, I offer my condolences. Stay warm, get drunk, and make some babies (or use condoms).

I am going to go off into the world of my apartment and enjoy this wonderful Groundhog's Day/my friend's birthday by staying warm, getting drunk, and using protection so that I don't make a baby.

Don't Worry, Bubble Wrap, I'll Stand Up For You!

2011-01-31T14:24:00.000-06:00

I have been informed (not personally) by Bruce's EvilTwin that it's National Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day. Apparently, he does not agree with the celebration of this day. He thinks it's stupid.

I know you don't think this has anything to do with bubble wrap, but this one's

for Bruce's EvilTwin. You know, EvilTwin, you know.

Have you ever popped bubble wrap, EvilTwin? It's the most relaxing thing in the world. Popping those tiny plastic bubbles (not the big ones, those suck) makes it seem like rainbows springing from Osama Bin Ladin's ass could really happen. If they implemented bubble wrap popping into the prison system/therapy sessions we would have less crazy people and crime.

This stuff is magic.

So I say to you all, Happy National Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day. Get yourself some magically delicious (don't eat it though) bubble wrap and let your worries fly away with the millions of carbon monoxide particles that are most likely being released every time you pop one of those tiny mood elevators and stress relievers.

What If... What If... What If...

2011-01-29T14:43:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I like to imagine what my life would be like if I were to become insanely rich. I'm talking about having money to do anything I could ever dream of.

I've decided that if this were to happen I would just use my money to fuck with my friends. I would pick one of them, and break into their apartment. Instead of robbing them I would just replace all of their belongings with top-of-the-line items, so that when they come home their apartment/house is stuffed with nice shit that they didn't buy. Maybe I'd leave a note with their full name on it saying You're Welcome so that they're sure they walked into the right residence.

Kara? I think someone broke into my apartment!

Oh no! You should call the cops. Did they take anything?

Well...not exactly.. They left a bunch of nice shit though.

Maybe you could call your landlord and get your locks changed.

...What if they want to come back to replace my appliances?

At which point I'd go in and take the nice shit back to teach them that you should always change your locks if someone breaks into your place of residence.

Maybe I'd replace the fridge.

Well At Least I've Found A Use For The Trojan Ones

2011-01-28T16:20:00.000-06:00

A girl I work with bonded as soon as she started at Shmupplebees. We never became close friends or anything, but her first experience with me made her like me at once...and I wasn't even there for it.

A few days (or weeks, whatever. Those of you who have worked in a restaurant know that the new people sometimes take awhile to be noticed) after she started this girl came up to me. We'll just call her Sarah for the sake of keeping her anonymous.

So I met your ex the other night, she said to me. MAN, does he hate you!

Apparently she was at a party where everyone was drunk, as they well should be. My ex was sitting outside moodily playing his guitar when she went out to smoke. He started talking to her and she told him that she had just started working at Shmupplebees.

Oh. My ex-girlfriend works there.

He then continued to berate me for awhile, telling her what a life-ruining-bitch-whore I was.

Of course she told me all about it. Why wouldn't she? It was clear that this man was crazy and I have a charming personality. I win.

Since then our bond has been enfolded in the fact that we both enjoy discussing the lengths to which this man-boy is a loser.

Even more useful is the fact that she is friends with a girl who is friends with the girl (goldfish's uncle's owner's sister, etc.) who is messing around with my ex, so she gets all of the juicy stories told to her. In turn, I get all the juicy stories told to me. I don't know the unfortunate soul's name who is stuck with that man-boy, but I'll name her Lily.

Here is the latest gem.

Lily likes to call man-boy when she's really drunk so that he can entertain her lady bits. The other night she went over there after a few too many cocktails. The only thing that she can remember before she blacked out was that he was crying. Maybe he was sad that I would never get my three years back.

When she woke up in the morning she found, on the floor, the following items:

1. A shoebox full of vomit.

2. A condom with man-juice in it.

3. A condom with bread-crusts stuffed in it.

Wait...bread-crusts?

Yeah, you heard correctly. I had to ask Sarah about five times if she was telling the story right.

I've been informed that my masturbation theory is out of the window because bread-crusts would probably not feel good on man-bits.

Fifty-cent trash can maybe?

Bruce Is Going To Give Me A Big Head

2011-01-27T14:07:00.000-06:00

I'm a little late on posting this, but I've been busy. Well, not really that busy but I've felt like spending my time doing things more productive than blogging (I know, what could be better than blogging...)

BUT....

I got an award!

From ~~Tucker~~ Bruce at Just Another Day in Paradise!

Thanks Tucker!

Here are the copy and pasted rules:

1.Link to the person who gave you this award. (In a post, or in your sidebar, wherever you have this)

2.Pass the award along to seven other people who post about at least slightly amusing things and tell them. Either by emailing them or commenting on a post, etc.
3.Say seven things about yourself that no one knows. (Or at least you think no one knows.)

4.Pass these rules on. (copy and paste this winners!)

Hmmm...these awards keep asking me to reveal a lot about myself. Luckily ~~I reveal things that won't embarrass me~~ none of you actually know me so I don't care as much.

Let's see... Things that no one else really knows.

1. I like to draw. I have taken several art classes and used to use my talents all the time, but the drawing has dwindled down over the years.

2. I, however, cannot paint to save my life. (It counts as two, right?)

3. I bought the movie Jarhead many many years ago but refused to watch it until my brother was out of the Marines because I was already so afraid for him every day that I couldn't handle making it worse.

4. I hated Jarhead. I regret watching it.

5. I have to try my best to not be a hoarder. I occasionally go through my stuff and throw away the items that I never use and don't need, but I have to make sure I keep on top of it so I don't end up on a reality show or a bad episode of Bones.

6. I love Jason Mraz. I think his lyrics are amazing. If you want to unfollow me for this one I don't blame you. I've almost disowned myself from myself because I'm so ashamed and embarrassed for the level to which I want to have this man's babies.

7. I am a bit compulsive about planning out situations and conversations before they even happen. This often results in talking out loud to myself. Kind of embarrassing and hard to explain when I get caught.

NOW, I have to pass this on to seven people that I find funny. Since I can't give it to myself seven more times (or could I.....) I will have to choose seven people from those I follow. Be right back.

........

.........

...Okay, I'm back.

To continue my laziness on this one I'm not going to give reasons why I chose these people, but I have good taste so go check them out.

1. Kurt at The Roaring Dork.

2. Purplegirl at The Only Slightly Cranky Waitress.

3. Beau at The Nothing Report.

4. Scott at Scott's Tip Of The Day.

5. Sous Gal at Here...taste this...

6. Cole at Dry Humor Daily.

And last but not least...

7. Sandra at Absolutely Narcissism.

Alright, I have fulfilled all the rules, and I promise to stop being a lazy ass and get back to regular posting tomorrow. For now, check them out, leave comments, and save kittens.

Workout Of Choice, 12 Ounce Curls

2011-01-22T16:15:00.000-06:00

Today I would like to say farewell to a good friend of mine. This friend has been with me, well, since I was born. Over the years we have grown apart, and now I feel like our relationship is almost non-existent.

No, I'm not talking about Regis.

I'm talking about my metabolism.

It dropped when I hit eighteen, and then again during my early twenties. Don't worry, the loneliness caused by the separation has been filled by a few pounds. Not hundreds of pounds but more than I'd care to hang out with on a daily basis.

Last week I busted out my old whiteboard that I used to use for this very purpose: tracking exercise and weight loss. I made a very pretty (okay, very squiggly) diagram for both of us on there so we can track the amount of working out that we do each week. At the end of the week, we erase it, put the pounds we have gained/lost in the allotted square and begin tracking the amount of exercise for the next week.

The exercise of choice?

Wii Fit.

Stop scoffing at me. It's hard. And, if you don't use it for awhile the animated Wii board mocks you. Kind of like an abusive relationship. It makes you feel bad until you eventually change your habits so that you can please it.

Last week I lost 0.4 pounds. Whatever, at least it's negative. But in reality, I only worked out a couple of times that week so I basically stayed the same. I promise I won't start posting "weight loss" pictures on here, because I think those are annoying. Besides, my beauty is so great that I don't want to be bothered by those pesky modeling agencies.

What I will periodically do, however, is make you listen to me talk about this subject. And tell you if I've lost weight. If I've gained weight, I'll just post about someone else's cats instead.

Stay Away From Me With Your Hugs!

2011-01-21T13:39:00.000-06:00

Today is national hug day.

Fuck that mess.

So while I go barracade myself in the back of my closet with a fort made out of laundry baskets, bananas, and an old shoe so that no one tries to hug me, please enjoy this repost about one of the men who broke my heart. It's okay, his is clogged with fake taco meat and processed cheese now.

Cinderella Was Right; Dreams Really Do Come True (repost)

No, this is not my ex.

Some people talk about out of body experiences. You know, those small moments in life that make you wake up and see the world for the truly great place it is. I had one of these moments a few nights ago at a local bar in town. I wasn’t meditating, I wasn’t taking acid to broaden my mind, I was just having a few drinks with a friend to console him due to the fact that he had been broken up with over a text message that day. It was a normal night. I was just going about my business bonding with the whiskey in my glass and occasionally offering up a pat on the back to my grieved friend when it happened.
I walked outside to the courtyard of the bar and began talking to my friend. I nonchalantly took a seat in the chair next to her and glanced around to see if there was any one more interesting to talk to. There, four feet away from me, sat a man around the age of twenty-five (the term ‘man’ is used VERY loosely here). I kind of recognized the t-shirt he was wearing and looked about four times as I was almost certain I recognized the person wearing the shirt. As he got up and awkwardly walked away after the quadruple-take , I was certain I knew who it was, and he was quite a bit heavier than the last time I saw him. Yes ladies, the dream had come true and it was truly one of the greatest moments of my life; my ex-boyfriend had gotten fat. He is now a fat fat mcfatty fatterson. He had been getting a little chubby during the last stretch of dating him, but in the last month the pot smoking and the taco bell eating contests must have really caught up with him.

We sat in the bar for the rest of the evening, both not willing to make eye contact with or acknowledge the other person, both not willing to be the one who gives in and leaves the uncomfortable situation, and I kept glancing over not believing my good fortune. I know some of you may be thinking that this sounds a little mean, but this is the moment that every girl who has had her heart broken dreams about; the moment where she can glance over at the man she once loved and say, ‘Ha!’.

So here’s to you, taco bell. You truly do make people’s dreams come true. I cheers my next whiskey drink to you.

And You Think YOU'VE Got It Bad...

2011-01-19T19:45:00.000-06:00

My favorite part is when the last guy freaks out and tries to leave.

Farewell, Regis, Farewell

2011-01-18T12:49:00.000-06:00

Who doesn't like Regis and Kathy...I mean Regis and Kelly? Sorry, I momentarily forgot that Kathy was pushed out...um...retired to make way for younger, prettier Kelly Rippa.

Well for those of you who love the show I have some bad news. Regis is finito. He announced that he is retiring after twenty-eight years on the show.

I'm not heart-broken. I'm sorry if you are, but I'm not. I don't watch this show. I find Regis's voice annoying and his personality a little too over the top for my taste. BUT, if you are one of those ~~five viewers~~ millions of viewers that the show has left, you can read all about it here. If you don't feel like going to the article, I'll ~~make fun of~~ quote some of it for you.

"I don't want to alarm anybody," he (Regis) began, then said, "This will be my last year on the show."

Hold the phone! Stop the world! You didn't even warn me to sit down first! You don't want to alarm us? You just ruined my world, Regis, like that time that you tricked me into giving the wrong answer and losing out on a million dollars! Why, Regis, WHY?!?!?!

"I wish I could do something to make you change your mind," said Ripa.

"Now waaait a minute," Philbin said slyly.

The article doesn't expand on this. Is he wanting something else? More money? More fame? Come on ABC! Give in to his demands!
Or is 'waaaaaaaiiitt a minute' code for, I'm sorry Kathy that I had them push you out for someone with higher boobs, now I know how it feels.

Philbin clicked with daytime audiences as a common man who loved to sound off about familiar frustrations, even as he lived a life rubbing elbows with fellow celebrities.

Golly gee, just a common man rubbing elbows with the elite celebrities of the world. How nice. I hope you never wash those elbow patches again.

Maybe I'm wrong about him being forced to retire. I mean he is about a hundred and eight years old. I'm sure it's hard for him to drag his bag of bones to work every day.

I personally don't know what I am going to do everyday at....eleven o'clock?....when the show is on. Please, ~~ABC~~ Regis, this CAN'T be your final answer!

Hey You! Stop Reading Your Blogroll and Come Read My Post!

2011-01-17T14:05:00.000-06:00

Happy MLK day! I hope you are all enjoying it, and if today is no different than any other Monday for you, think of it as Bloglove Monday instead.

Speaking of bloglove, Bruce's EvilTwin gave me some the other day. He gave me this:

Thanks Bruce!!!!

This award comes with this rule. I can give it to as many people as secrets that I am willing to divulge about myself. I am a copycat, so here are three secrets:

1. Showers are like magic for me. A shower will make me feel better no matter how crappy I feel. If I feel too crap-o-la-like the shower magic is only temporary, but should last until the hot water returns.

2. My Super-Nintendo is quite possibly my favorite possession apart from my books. I was informed, as a joke, that it was broken accidentally and thought about breaking up with my boyfriend when I found out he had lied to me about it to be funny. We made it through but I glared at him for the rest of the night.

3. I believe that Midol is the best hangover cure in the world. It not only takes care of the headache but has caffeine to perk you up. I pretty much just love this stuff. There's a certain week of the month that I will pop these pills like candy because they are the only thing that makes me feel sane.

So there you have it. Three things that make up some of what I like to call 'the essence of Kara.' Now to ~~force other bloggers into doing the same thing~~ give this out to other deserving bloggers out there. I gave three secrets so I get to give the award to three people. Since it is a holiday, I am going to give a simple reason as to why I chose each blog. This first blanket reason is that I just recently started following these blogs and all three of them rock my world.

First, to Cole at Dry Humor Daily. If for no other reason than this:

One of the main reasons I followed this blog. It made me laugh.

Next, to Beau at The Nothing Report, because everyone should have a Zombie Apocalypse Plan and he posted his so that I could copy it. No, really. He posted it just for me I just know it. He didn't tell me but I have good hunches about things like these.

Finally, Bryan and Brandon at A Beer For The Shower, because anyone who can make fun of Sarah Palin and the Twilight books are fucking heroes in my book.

Now I'm going to go drink beer and smoke a cigarette for Bruce and his evil counterpart. Thanks again Bruce!

A Response To Deuchebaggery

2011-01-14T12:14:00.000-06:00

Dear New followers (and old followers),

HELLO!!! (dorky wave)

I love you! (cheesy lovey-dovey-I-just-got-my-first-high-school-boyfriend smile)

Thank you for following me and for leaving me comments. I love comments. I read them while my boyfriend peers over my shoulder to see what I'm doing, then rolls his eyes when he sees that I'm looking at Blogger again. I'm surprised he still asks what I'm giggling at when I squeal in glee everytime I see that someone has written another one. Because. It's. Always. For. The. Same. Reason. People really just don't learn. That whole learning by repetition thing? Total crap-o-la (singsong voice).

I was going to write this post last night, but I was so angry the the whiskey went down a bit ~~faster~~ smoother than it normally does, and pretty soon I didn't want to do anything but watch the Comedy Central Roast of Dennis Leary. Eh. It was kind of one of those things where the funny moments are spaced out just close enough together to keep you from changing the channel.

But today I am whiskey/Dennis Leary free so I am going to tell you about the evil evil evil evil (evil) table I had last night.

It was a table of eight, and things were going well for awhile. By well, I mean kind of mediocre. Just another table. Then, as always, it starts with one guy. It's always the one guy who ruins any situation, and last night that guy was the birthday boy. At one point I go to pick up his empty beer glass (of which he had had many already) and he asks:

Is there a refill on this?

Yes, sir. I reply. It's coming from the bar.

At which point he tells me:

Well. It would be really HANDY (emphasize handy. Now raise the end of it so that it kind of sounds like a question)

Let's try this again:

Well. It would be really HANDY it you could bring another one before you take the empty glass away.

Oh, golly gee sir, I didn't realize your alcoholism was so bad that you suffer an instantaneous withdrawal if you don't even have the presence of a beer glass in front of you. Please, have a coupon and a brochure for AA.

They finished their meal and we sang Happy Birthday to Mr. Bud Light. Turns out he's the same age that I am about to be. Unfortunately for him, he looks a good five years older than I do. Maybe that's because I don't drink twenty beers as an appetizer.

Here's where the twist comes in.

Mr. Bud Light wants to stay and have more beers after they pay.

Breathe. I know, it's a shocker.

Everything goes the same as before, except the only food was the three baskets of chips and salsa I put at their table hoping they could use it to sober up a bit. Some people join the party, and some people leave. They keep ordering more beers, and keep moving around to the point that I'm pretty sure I gave them the right tickets.

At one point I realize that one of the guys had left without paying. His ticket was only about ten bucks, but you better believe my ass wasn't paying for it. I inform the group that was still left of this and one drunk drunk drunk guy says he'll pick it up. He takes that ticket and his own ticket. To no surprise of mine, they order more beers, so I switch out the tickets, including the one that belongs to drunk drunk drunk guy. They all pay, and ddd (it's getting to be too much to type out) guy gives me just the ticket for himself, and a twenty.

Are you sure you don't want change?!?!?! His mom's shrilly voice screeches out to him,

He didn't want change, on his nineteen-and-something dollar ticket. Woo. Big spender. Thanks asshole.

Now, there was Mr. Bud Light Birthday Boy and the spare ticket left to pay. I took the credit card of Mr. Bud Light and informed the table that the ticket needs to be paid.

I already paid it. Slurred DDD guy.

No, you paid yours.

At this point we start going around in circles about him saying he picked up both tabs and me telling him he only paid his.

But you brought me a new ticket and I paid it.

I told him that, yes, I had brought him a new ticket but that was for his tab since the other ticket was still on the table. I had even printed a new copy and brought it to the table by this point. Wasn't that nice of me?

By this point the entire table is arguing with me and looking at me like I am trying to tell them that God is really a llama that lives in a field of cotton candy.

I tell them at least four times that I can get the manager if they want because I have NO control over the situation. Finally I just kind of walk away to let them figure it out for themselves. I bring back the credit card receipt for Mr. Bud Light, and DDD guy thrusts the spare ticket at me with a ten and says:

Here! Before you fuck this up. He emphasized this as if I had just screwed up their entire dining experience to the point that he would burst into an uncontrollable fit of tears the moment he stepped into another restaurant.

Since I couldn't do anything last night except scream the story to my manager with a breaking voice, Here is my reply to DDD guy.

Dear Drunk Drunk Drunk guy,

I'm sorry that you are so insecure that you have to treat people like dog-shit when you know they can't say anything back to you. It's really not your fault. I know that you feel bad about yourself because you don't have the looks or charm to make up for the fact that you have a tiny penis. But being a fat deuchebag isn't all that bad. You can be the funny friend if you can learn to properly make jokes. Even better, you can be that guy that your friend really doesn't like, but keeps around to make himself seem that much more attractive to the ladies. It's like community service, you're helping average-looking people get laid too; just not yourself. I'm sorry you can't find anyone except hookers to have sex with you. But the bright side is that even though you can't see your penis, due to muscle memory your hand can find it every time, so you can still get your cookies.

Love,
Kara.

P.S. - Go fuck yourself. You're the only one who will.

Seriously, What WOULD You Do For A Klondike Bar?

2011-01-13T11:25:00.000-06:00

In the comment section of my last post, Mynx asked me what a Klondike Bar is. I never even stopped to think that explaining this might make a little more sense. So for you, Mynx, and all of you who don't know what this delectable mouth-watering item is, here I go...
A Klondike Bar is this:

It's pretty much just a brand-name ice cream bar/sandwich depending on your preference.

The slogan that made/kept them famous was:

What Would YOU Do For A Klondike Bar?

Further Example:

There you have it. Now you can all 'ooh' and ahh' at the utter brilliance of my last post''s title! (I'm 'oohing' and 'ahhing' too. You're not alone.)

Are they really this good?

Hell if I know. I'm lactose intolerant. I've never had one.

I Want A Klondike Bar Before I Hang Out With You

2011-01-12T16:18:00.001-06:00

When I was in fifth grade, my class took a field trip to Accra, Ghana. Ghana is the neighboring country to Cote d'Ivoire (seriously, someone tell me how to put those damn symbols in here. I'm screwing up words left and right because of that) where I grew up. Well, where I lived as a child would be more accurate.

One day, we were out and about doing all the fun touristy things that you get to do when you visit countries, and we ended up at this restaurant. To eat. A bunch of fifth graders. Finding food for them is inevitable.

Each of the tables was a separate gazebo. The gazebos had numbers on them. I should tell you now that I am not always a nice person. Unless you cry and then I am only nice because tears scare me. I'm worse than a guy in that department.

Well, my two bestest-fifth-grade-friends and I were in one of the gazebos together. Lets just say the number was 54. We were making passes and handing them out to other students so they could come back to our gazebo. Look. I was in fifth grade. Well, this girl, we'll just call her Shmamber, wanted a pass too. Now, Shmamber was a very pretty, very prissy, kind-of-stuck-up blonde. We didn't like her. She thought she was the shiznit and we knew we were the shiznit, so you see where the conflict would come in.

My friend made her a pass. Whatever. But as soon as Shmamber left to go to her own gazebo, or go stare at herself in a mirror, my friend leans over to me and whispers:

I wrote 52 on her pass. Now she can't get back in.

Attention Customers? Please Send SRS Assistance to Aisle 1

2011-01-12T00:51:00.000-06:00

Two Halloweens ago I dressed up as Mother Earth. I wore green clothing and tights, and put green glittery make-up all over my arms and face (and chest. Gotta take care of the cleavage). I even got that colored spray, sprayed my hair green and put millions of bobby pins and fake twigs and leaves in the now-green-rock that used to be my hair (it washed right out, thank God).

I looked pretty damn good.

Until the bars closed and I walked to my car (I wasn't the one driving).

I'm not quite sure what had happened except that I think I can blame a good majority on some homemade minty shots earlier in the evening.

I just fell over.

On my face.

I didn't even have scratches on my hands, so I'm pretty sure I didn't try to catch myself at all. Well, mostly I caught myself with my chin and my nose. As I was trying to figure out what I had just done, I heard a girl shout out:

Oh my God, he just pushed her down! Do you want us to call the cops? We should call the cops!

Since I'm pretty sure that the guy with me had not pushed me down, mostly because he looked worried and was helping me up, I slurred back:

Nmo, ish oke. I frelt bo meshelf.
(No, it's okay. I fell by myself.)

They didn't call the cops so I think they understood me.

Or the guy got us out of there before his ass went to jail.

My face was pretty bad the next day. There were scratches all over, especially by my nose and chin, and a particularly bad one on my forehead. The thing that I have never been able to live down is that my face became progressively worse over the next month. I ended up with two black eyes that took a month to peak, and longer to go away. Not only that but I had to deal with the acne that came along with putting pounds of make-up over these bruises. Thank God for dim lighting at restaurants.

Everytime I would go out in public I would get those, you should really break up with your abusive boyfriend looks.

The thing is, no one did anything about it. Meaning they never actually said anything to me except for those who knew me well and had heard the story. And those people just wanted to make fun of me and tell me what an idiot I was (am).

Moral of this story? Don't expect the Wal-Mart cashier to help you if your significant other is beating you.

You Just Keep My Bloggersphere A Twirlin'

2011-01-11T16:00:00.000-06:00

So I found out yesterday that I have been getting a lot of bloglove lately.

I was unofficially nominated to be BONed (come on now. Mind out of the gutter and eyes up here!) by Bruce's EvilTwin on his blog, Stupid stuff I see and hear. Personally I'd rather be BONed by Bruce's EvilTwin than than Google any day because he doesn't like blogs that show the crappy outcome of bad knitting patterns.

I am also sponsoring Bruce's JADIP blog this week; an honor that I am forced to accept because I swore that I would not write another damned three page report during my time off from school. I now call my reports essays and short stories because it makes me feel better about myself. Plus the report is single spaced, so that's really like six pages. It takes less time to let him link my blog everyday and say nice things about me.

This is my prize. The rash can be fixed, baby, I promise.

And last, but definitely not least, Mrs. Hyde at A Bitch Called Mom nominated me for the most humorous blog award in the 2011 Weblog Awards. I don't know if I'll win, I didn't even really know about them, but being nominated is honestly good enough for me.

So now, I would like to thank... (drumroll)

No, not God.

I'm trying to be a writer so I've trained myself to step away from everything that is cliche (I don't know how to do the 'e' so you have to deal with it looking like that), and I don't know what is more cliche than thanking God in moments like these.

So instead I am going to thank... (come on you damn drumroll. Where is it?)

Bruce, his evil counterpart and Mrs Hyde!

You made me feel greater about myself than getting Google's attention ever could. I am not writing for them I am writing for you (and for the possibility of making millions by someone discovering what a literary genius I am). It is your comments and pageviews that keep me going on this thing. We all already know that I am an attention whore, so you feeding my ego from time to time ~~just makes the problem worse~~ makes it all the more worth it to spend my time spewing out some useless crap that you guys find funny for some reason.

Thank you so much you guys for all of the bloglove that makes my little bloggersphere go 'round.

And thank you to all of those who have helped to save kittens around the world.

Redos Are For Adults Too

2011-01-09T12:55:00.000-06:00

You know those moments where you realize you aren't where you're supposed to be?

I had one of those yesterday.

I was talking to my roommate for awhile because she was upset about some things, and eventually made plans to go over to my boyfriend's to hang out. I realized somewhere right before I went over there and the drive over that I should be with my friend.

Boy am I glad I made that decision.

I didn't get drunk because with the events that unfolded there just wasn't time available to devote to that.

One of our mutual friends was completely drunk. I think shwasted may even be appropriate for this one. I walked up and he gave me a hug which ended up being a, 'I'm going to cuddle you upright for a minute so you don't fall over' hug. We went downstairs to the first floor of the bar, and proceeded to get a drink. We saw our friend fall down the stairs and Shmishelle deemed it time to set the drink down and take him home.

I offered to ride with her to help with the drunken mass in her front seat, and spent the whole way to his house trying to keep him upright so that he would stop using one of my hands as a headrest. Don't judge me, I'm still a good friend but that man's head is heavy!

We woke him up and got him out of the car when we reached the right house. He kept making us stop by planting his foot in front of him on the sidewalk in a way that would disable us from proceeding further, and would whisper, "Shhhhh! Look! It's the dinosaurs!"

This happened a few times. Shmishelle thought it was hilarious and kept egging him on while I tried to be the voice of reason saying, "Yup, the dinosaurs. Now where are your keys. That's nice. Really? Where are your keys. Find your keys. It's cold and you're using me as a cane."

Something like that anyway.

He didn't have his keys because some smart person probably took them away from him at the bar, so we lugged him back to the car. I had her drop me off at my car which was still by the bar, and met her at our apartment to help him upstairs onto our couch. Pillow and blanket later, we took off to have a precious drink at a different bar than we were at (no thanks hip-hop night). We got down a shot and a drink.

My liver cried tears of ~~relief~~ sadness, but I satisfied my arteries with some taco bell.

All in all, we stayed up for a bit talking about random I'm-slightly-tipsy tidbits so it was a good night.

Oh, by the way, I did all of this in sweatpants.

And owned it.

I'm a badass.

Don't Worry Neighbor We'll Take You In Repost

2011-01-07T13:45:00.000-06:00

It is gorgeous outside and I am in the middle of a book, so for you viewing pleasure today I bring you a soothing (reposted) tale of corporate lies.

Enjoy!

I remember being told about a restaurant commercial a couple years ago. This commercial was for a restaurant that I have never heard of and certainly don't work at. For the hell of it, we'll just call it Shmupplebees.
Apparently, in this commercial, all of the staff (servers, cooks, hosts, manager) were leaving work at the same time (because we know that everyone in the restaurant completes their closing work at the exact same time) with smiles on their faces. Smiles. Manager must have been giving his employees some adult happy juice during the shift.
Well, they are about to lock the door and a team pulls up, just having lost their (I'm assuming football) game. They look so dejected about sucking at their sport of choice not being able to enjoy the fine dining experience of Shmupplebees, that the staff immediately unlocks the door, fires up the grills, and changes the lives of these fine young gentlemen of society forever.
What the fuck?
Who made this commercial? This person has obviously never served before. Unless that team brought in a very large bottle of tequila, my ass would've been out of there hightailing it to the nearest bar.

Come And Get It! (Bloglove Of Course!)

2011-01-05T12:27:00.000-06:00

Hello.

I'm back to talk about myself...

Again...

Are you excited?

Good.

I am awesome.

End of post.

Okay, not really, because I have to talk about something that made me feel awesome.

It is this:

this award was started by Mynx at Dribble...

It has strawberries. I love strawberries.

And awards.

(Thanks Bruce!)

This award has some stipulations/rules however.

First, I am going to list five guilty pleasures that I have. This is not my choice to do and you cannot unfollow me because you finally realize I am a ~~loser~~ ~~nerd~~ unique person. This is a freebie for me to be...special.

Alright...

Five Guilty Pleasures:

1. Diet Coke. I think about half their revenue each year comes from me alone. I love it so so so much. It's not even a weight loss thing for me. I just truly enjoy the taste of it and the nice slight sting that I get from the carbonation when I chug a glass of it. I wrote a poem about coke when I was fourteen. Maybe someday I will change it to diet coke and post it. It's pretty much a love poem.

2. Zebra Cakes. I love them so much that I won't eat them. Trust me, it makes sense. I CAN NOT stop once I start. Before I know it two or fifteenish boxes are gone and I have a vague recollection of being the one to have eaten them. I don't even like them to be around me. This love does not apply to any other Little Debbie snacks. Just Zebra Cakes.

3. Sweatpants. I wear them whenever I can. I wear them in public. Right now my only pair has a hole in the butt (haha) so I keep to wearing them around the apartment (with shorts underneath so they aren't completely inappropriate). I do sometimes (often) wear them to my boyfriend's apartment though. Hey, a girl's gotta be comfortable.

4. Singing. I love to sing. Just not in front of anyone. Yeah, I'm one of those people. Also, I'm the person next to you while you're waiting for that long red light to finally turn green. You know the one. You look over on your nice Wednesday afternoon to see a girl jamming out to whatever the hell kids listen to these days. She doesn't look like a kid, but she's sure acting like one. She looks over at you and sees you staring at her like she's a moron. She gets embarrassed for a second, moves her car forward a foot and then goes back to her song. I'm that girl.

5. Newsies. You know the crappy '92 Disney musical with Christian Bale when he was about seventeen? I love this movie. You could even say it is my favorite movie. (I have a cousin who loves this movie because of me too. It's like the herpes of crappy musicals.) The thing for me is that it has more sentimental value at this point rather than being the best, most life-changing thing I have ever seen in my life. I used to watch it all the time when I was a kid. Hey, those of you that got to grow up in America had the goonies, us Missionary Kids had Newsies.

So there we go. More about me than any of you still care about. Now to pass this on to three people.

1. Sandra at Absolutely Narcissism. I think I gave her an award last time I gave one out but I can't remember and I also don't care. This lady is funny. She could write a he said/she said book on husband/wife interactions and make millions.

2. Lady Fromage at...well, Lady Fromage. She loves cheese. I love cheese. In fact, I am lactose intolerant and cheese is pretty much the only dairy I can eat so I have a fondness for it that is almost unnatural. Plus, she is a fellow Kansan and I think that is pretty sweet.

3. Corey at Wishing My Life Was A Musical...It Would Be The Best Musical Ever!!! I don't know if I got the name exactly right, but it's long and you can just follow the damn link. ...So follow it! His blog shows a depth that mine will never reach. One of the stipulations he has for himself is remaining uncensored in what he feels he needs to say and you've got to respect that. Plus he made magical buttons appear in the top right corner of my blog.

So there you have it. Five guilty pleasures, three people awarded, and one little monkey still jumping on the bed.

I Am A Whore

2011-01-04T21:47:00.000-06:00

Not that kind of whore.

An award whore!!

I love them.

And I love Bruce.

Cause he gave me one.

And said nice things about me.

The award is pretty. It has strawberries on it. And it calls me sweet.

(By the way, the internet is probably the only safe way to call me sweet. Any other way will get you a suckerpunch to the face.)

I need to go claim it so I can tell you all about five of my guiltiest pleasures, and give it to three awesome people, but I am about to start drinking some whiskey and don't want to get pulled over on my way over there for swerving.

~~Plus I need to keep appearing clever so I am going to think of really weird/funny guilty pleasures before I claim it.~~

It's not my fault. Bruce put me up to that standard by lying to you and telling you I'm funny. Now there's just so much pressure!

*Sip*

Better.

Now I'm going to go drink a few stiff ones and ~~make up~~ think up some guilty pleasures.

Justin Beiber Hates Your Cat Too

2011-01-02T15:07:00.000-06:00

I love my cats.

Well, actually they're my roommate's cats, but I'm like an adoptive/step-parent.

Plus them being her cats makes it less likely that I will end up a crazy cat lady. Now I can end up with a dog. Having dogs are cool. As long as they're not those annoying yappy dogs.

But I still love cats.

I just don't like cats as much as some people, bringing me to my point. Cat videos. I pet my cats (ha), I give them food and throw toys. I even cuddle with them after they force themselves in my lap.

I do not make videos of them to post online.

I think it is adorable when my cat bats a toy around. I do not think that means that the cat has learned to play soccer. I do not put it on the web as most amazing cat discovery ever!

Please keep your cat entertainment to the home. Maybe send a picture to a friend once in awhile, but don't be offended if that friend does not care that your cat fell asleep on the table. All cats fall asleep anywhere they can. Your cat is not special.

Now here's a cat video for your viewing pleasure.

Because we all hate Justin Beiber.

Get The Bug Out Of Your Ass Part Two

2010-12-31T00:01:00.000-06:00

I don't know if you read the comments, but Shmichelle did indeed have more to say on the subject. To be ~~lazy~~ fair I am going to make it a post so that she has her own voice in the matter.

It is I, Smichelle the room-mate. I feel as though Kara didn't give the situation as much......seriousness as I want her to. Sorry Kara, I'm just FUCKING LIVID about this situation. I know you are too but more expression of that is necessary so now I take the liberty to speak for us both.

First of all, they lied to us and tried to convince us that we brought the bugs in from our job. Then after the 2nd bombing and before the 3rd, this sleezeball has the audacity to tell me that this was an EXISITING PROBLEM. That's right, they already knew there were roaches before we moved in. So during all the sprayings (of which there were 3 professional and 1 regular maintenance) the landlord, let's call him The Dick Headed Salesman, DHS for short, gave me the number to the Great Exterminator (sarcasm included).

The Great Exterminator (GE) guaranteed each and every spraying and the bugs came back each and every time. When I asked him about this he told me that DHS refused to spray the entire building because it costs too much even though the GE, who is a professional exterminator, told the DHS that is the only way the chemicals would be effective.

This happened three times.

Every time we had to spend about 8 hours bagging all our shit up so it wouldn't get chemical on it, moving my cat(s) to my boyfriend's, and waiting a day to go back to unpack everything and wait 50 more days to do it again.

Now the DHS is tired of listening to me conplain about it so he says we can get out of our lease early. He's just going to put someone else through the same shit. What a fuck stick.
I just wanted to bitch about the DHS to the open air so everyone knows that he truly is a penis.

Oh and the cat(s) that I have to keep moving out for a week at a time cost me extra money to live here. Thanks ASSWIPE.

Thanks for listening, or reading. Either way, FUCK THE DHS!!!

I hope he gets cockroaches. In fact, I would infest his house with them if I knew how to do it.

Get The Bug Out Of Your Ass

2010-12-29T21:58:00.000-06:00

Oh landlords.

Can't live with them and I've just found a way to live without mine.

He is letting us out of the lease pretty much because we are annoying him.

Now before you say, 'But Kara, we know how much you love to annoy people,' just listen to my side of the story.

I moved into this apartment in the middle of last summer. I had to take care of the rent by myself for a month and a half because my roommate was still binded to another lease and they wouldn't hold the apartment (after many of the ones we looked at we thought it was worth it). After a bit we started to notice the real dominant species of the earth sharing out home with us.

Roaches.

Yeah I hear ya, ew.

They sprayed once and bombed our apartment three or four times. I can't even remember. I'm sure Shmishelle will correct me in the comments section. Every time they bombed the apartment we had to bag up everything. Then we had to unpack it. After cleaning the pesticide off of everything. I feel like I have moved into this apartment more times than I have moved in my life. And I grew up a missionary kid so that's saying a lot.

After Shmishelle sent him a text the other night (when we saw another roach), he responded that we could move out but we had to tell him by that day and be out by the thirty-first of January. She told him we would tell him on wednesday not realizing that it was only one day away. We now have until friday to tell him, and will be spending all of our spare time making sure that we won't be homeless if this decision is made.

Seriously?!

I feel like he is letting us out of our lease because we are complaining too much.

Oh, I'm so sorry that I'm trying to take care of YOUR property and make it pest free.

Sure didn't mean to be a burden. I guess I was wrong to assume that, as a landlord and property owner, you would want to make sure that there weren't bugs.

Consider this my formal apology.

Asshole.

Let's Mock Boring People Together

2010-12-28T11:54:00.000-06:00

I feel like you should all know about my abhoration (that is not pronounced abortion) for facebook by now. It's not even facebook. I have both a personal account and one for this blog. I believe that is is useful for finding out what people are up to without having to go through the mind-numbing process of actually conversing with them.

There's one more thing facebook does.

It has taken the place of face-to-face, or even cell phone, interaction.

I got on today and here is a conversation that stared me in the face and said, you're wasting your time reading this (whatever, not only did I read it but I copied it to put on here).

Status: Fml don't comment

Thing One: Sup
Thing Two: Sup
Thing One: Nada
Thing Two: Your still weak after tonight
Thing One: Really
Thing Two: Ya. You didn't kick it
Thing One: Sooo I'm noooo goood to kick
Thing Two: Lol your good
Thing One: Ok what u doing
Thing Two: Eatin
Thing One: Nice

Do you hate yourself yet? Is there a little thought forming inside your brain that is maybe telling you to shoot yourself so you never have to read it again? Yeah, me too.

I don't understand this. Facebook even has a chat option. I feel like conversations such as this one are unnecessary in the comments option of the page. They are boring and I am not facebook stalking you to be bored.

So get with the program and post things like 'If Cheese was made from plaster I might still find it delicious enough to eat.' Stuff I can really make fun of you for.

By The Seat Of My Pants

2010-12-28T01:04:00.000-06:00

Christmas is over.

Thank Jesus!

I feel like I barely made it through this year. My stress and energy levels were shot. I am just now backing down from being the neurotic bitch that I formed into during the days surrounding the joyous occasion of family time.

Ah family time.

Consists of fake smiles, glasses of wine and loads of passive aggressive underhanded snide comments. My stocking was full of them. Some bad children get coals, I get a side of rudeness that can't be proven.

Fuck Christmas.

New Years is a better holiday anyway.

There's more alcohol involved.

My kind of Christmas Caroling

2010-12-23T18:47:00.000-06:00

Angels We Have Heard On High - by the Bowen Beer Bottle Band

It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Eggnog Season

2010-12-22T21:04:00.000-06:00

It is officially almost Christmas.

I figured this out when I went to Shmal-mart earlier (then again for wrapping paper). There were tons of people there putting some last minute touches on their holiday shopping just like I was.

My favorite wrapping paper that I purchased? The Grinch paper.

I am a grinch.

Mostly.

Yes, I have a secret to tell you.

Are you listening?

Come closer.

Too close. Back up.

Okay. Here I go.

I secretly like Christmas. BUT only for a certain period of time. My Christmas Spirit is like milk. If you leave it out too long it's going to spoil quickly. However, I believe that it is a good time to begin feeling a lot like Christmas (or something like that). I took yesterday to shop and am going to take tonight to wrap presents and watch a couple classic holiday movies. I'm talking Holiday Inn and White Christmas. No creepy clay-mation for me tonight.

So to all of you, I hope you enjoy your holiday whether or not you enjoy the actual holiday. If nothing else just enjoy the time off work and get drunk.

Early Christmas Shopping Is For Pansies

2010-12-22T00:18:00.000-06:00

I would like to apologize for being lazy as shit about posting lately. 'Tis the season ya know. The season to do all your Christmas shopping in one day a couple days before they're due under the tree.

That is exactly what I did today. I spent the day in Lawrence and Topeka Kansas shopping my ass off. I found some pretty good gifts, and almost made it home by midnight. Luckily I don't turn into a gourd at that point so we're good.

I always have this problem of trying to buy too much stuff for people in case they don't like what I picked out for them. Then I have to try and make it even with what I bought everyone else. I think that I did alright today. I made myself put a few things back that I really wanted to buy. And hell. If I really decide said person(s) need what I had picked out for them as well as what I bought for them I'll just go back. I don't think I have the energy to go shopping again, so they're stuck with what's in the lovely plastic bags shoved onto the top of my dresser.

Thanks also for all of the comments. I know I haven't been commenting back too much in the past week but they have still been saving kittens and making me smile.

For now I am going to put my feet up and blogstalk all of you until I pass out.

Thirty and Flirty Repost

2010-12-17T16:19:00.000-06:00

I may have spent my blogging time taking a nap today. Luckily for you I was just as funny a few months ago as I am today. So, without further ado, here is a lovely repost for you go enjoy. So enjoy it!!!!

Thirty Flirty and...Oh Wait, You're Just Insecure About Turning Forty

I feel like I've mentioned this, but I don't feel like actually checking so I will state it again; I work in a restaurant as a server. This is important because it gives me a broader vicinity in which to interact with people, and therefore more opportunity to make fun of them. Tonight I served a gentleman and his young son. This is roughly how part of the conversation went.

Me: "Here's your drinks, do you know what you want to order?"

Thirty to forty year old man: "We'd just like to sit for awhile. My twin boys are evil and I finally got rid of one of them so I'd like to sit here and drink an abundance of beer while pretending to take care of my son."

Me: "Alright sir, well take your time deciding because I definitely have nothing better to do."

After awhile I went back and the kid ordered a corndog. In the process of getting the corndog choice out of the child I had to deal with more conversation.

Me: "Have you finally decided because I would like to buy beer while I still can."

Thirty to forty year old man to son: "Is this the one you thought was cute?"

Son: "I like to pretend that I like girls more than I do at my young age so that my father who neglects me unless I'm forced upon him by his ex-wife/my mother will think I'm worth paying attention to."

Me: "He's just insecure about the fact that he's going to be forty soon and doesn't really love you. Sorry kid, I hate your dad and he's just using you to hit on a mid-twenties waitress who he probably thinks is in her very early twenties because he has no concept of age due to the large amount of beer he has drank tonight."

Son: "I hate my life."

Me: "Me too. It'll get better once you're old enough to drink beer."

Son: "I'll have a corndog and my father is going to take years off of your life due to the immense amount of time it will take him to decide what he wants when in actuality he's just going to order a sandwich togo and waste your time."

Indeed, after drinking more beers than I was legally allowed to give him (and did anyway because I really do not care) the man orders a reuben togo. They were in there for over an hour during which time I had to go up to them randomly, pretend to care what he was saying, and pretend to like his kid. Their bill came to a little under twenty-seven dollars. He hands me twenty-eight and tells me he does not need any change. I put up with a lot of assholes at my job but that is because I'm a personality whore and I love money. So to you thirty-to-forty-year-old-man, I say this...

You are almost forty. Your child is not half bad but you talk about how terrible he is in front of him to make your crappy existence feel better by making someone feel bad about themselves. You are teaching him to treat women very poorly and using him to try and seduce young servers into thinking that you are charming. This means you sneakily sexually harass women through your son and he will probably learn the same disgusting habits that you have. This also means that unless he turns out good looking he will never get laid on a regular basis. After all this you left me a dollar because god forbid I wouldn't flirt back with you. This is because you are almost forty and you treat your son like crap. I am in my mid-twenties and I have no children so I am not interested in you, your dollar or your son. Also, you're almost forty; sorry about your luck on that one.

Corey Rocks My Socks!

2010-12-16T15:29:00.000-06:00

I would like to start today with shoveling out some MAJOR bloglove to Corey. He very kindly helped me put up the beautiful buttons that you see to your right. Actually he didn't help he. He completely did it for me. Corey, thank you so so so so (so) much! Some day when I am rich and famous I am going to start a website just so that I can pay you to design it for me (It may be awhile, though).

His blog is titled If My Life Were A Musical...It Would Be The Best Musical EVER!!! Go to it now! And follow it. I am following it so it is Kara Hoag approved. But come back after and finish reading my post.

I don't have a lot of time today so I am going to entertain you with a quick Shmupplebees story.

A few years ago I was working a day shift. I don't recall, but I'm going to assume that I was hungover, still drunk, or just didn't care.

I got a two-top whom I assume were dating. The guy looks at the drink menu and asks what time it was. Without thinking I shoot back, "Well...it's five o'clock somewhere."

He did not look amused.

Neither did his girlfriend.

I, however, cracked up a bit. Partly because I thought it was funny, and partly because I felt a bit awkward that they were staring at me like I just ate one of their shoes.

I took their order, and tried to remain normal for the rest of their meal so that we could move past our differences in humor.

Apparently they couldn't. Neither of them tipped me and they both stole the pens that I had put down with their receipts.

Sidenote: that's the worst feeling ever the first time that happens. Stiffing a server AND stealing their pen is like slapping them in the face. Don't do it. It's just not nice.

Anywho, thank you so much again Corey! If your life WERE a musical, I bet you'd bravely defeat the villain and whisk your true love away to live happily ever after all the while classily doing it in song.

So to end, I've created a facebook account for this blog. I would love to be your friend. All you have to do is click on the nifty buttons that have been placed there by awesome Corey (have I thanked you enough yet?).

And follow me on twitter.

Help Wanted

2010-12-14T22:45:00.000-06:00

Dear Readers,

I have a problem.

I need your help.

I am wanting to put a 'follow me on twitter' 'like me on facebook' and a link to the facebook account that I have created for this blog. I have no friends on this account because I don't know how to link it. This makes me sad. When I am sad kittens die (You know what you did non-comment leavers).

I am not tech savvy.

You may think I'm lying because of all the cool links to this blog you've been seeing around the internet. Don't let that fool you. I just copy and paste from one of my comments (Thanks Bruce!).

So if any of you would like to explain to me how to make these magical things happen on my blog, it would be much appreciated (just use small words and simple phrases).

Sincerely,
Kara

Better Choices: They're Not Just The Kid's Responsibility

2010-12-14T13:23:00.000-06:00

I'd like to start out with a shout-out to all of my followers. You guys make me happy. I hope I make you happy too. Unless you hate yourself so you just follow my blog because it makes you miserable to read. I...hope that makes you happy in your own way? You should probably think about therapy in that case, though. Either way... Hello people who read this!!! I love you. I would cry now, but I'm not much of a tears person unless it comes to pmsing moments during the Karate Kid.

Okay, now that the mushy good-feeling part of this post is over with (thank deity of your choice), I want to talk about Happy Meals. HM's, as I like to call them (I just don't want to write Happy Meal over and over again), are a part of childhood. A right of passage so to speak.

According to Michelle Obama, these meals are making kids fat. Scratch that. The TOYS are making kids fat.

Excuse me? A HM toy is the cause of child obesity in this country?

What about the healthy side options?

But Kara, kids won't choose the apples over the fries!

Aren't you the parent? Don't you have the authority to make that decision for your child? If you ask your child if they want fish sticks or grilled chicken they will choose the fish sticks.

Unless you teach your child that they should eat the grilled chicken.

Or tell them that they can have a HM but they have to have the apples as the side.

Here's an idea:

Why not put educational toys in the HMs? Shouldn't we be concerned about this country's rising level of ~~stupidity~~ illiteracy? We could put small books or puzzles in the meals. Then we won't be fat and stupid as a country.

Bottom line.
You are the parent. Choose the apples for your kid. Buy them a book. Stop letting them crumble Cheerios into the carpet of my section.

Okay that last one is more of a personal thing.

I Have A Dream, A Song To Sing....Okay Just A Job To Get

2010-12-11T14:56:00.000-06:00

As you all may or may not know, I hate my job. Okay hate is a bit strong. I really really really really really hate my job.

I think it's time for a new one.

So I am going to undertake the task of writing my resume so that I can send it in to places that will make me feel like an actual grown-up instead of a really old teenager.

So let's see....

Relevant skills:

I can drink the shit out of diet coke. If the building should ever be flooded with foaming waves of this delicious beverage, just give me a glass and I'll probably save the building before your paperwork even gets wet.

I have an intense gift of sarcasm. I can probably find a way to make fun of anything that you throw in front of me and you may or may not know that I am doing it. Until later. When you sadly realize that I was really making fun of you the entire time. Then you cry. Crying keeps the moral down. That way the employees don't rebel. Therefore, I will keep your organization working smoothly together under the nonsense rules that you have put in place.

I have very large, expressive brown eyes. When I look sad people like to give me things. You can use this to your advantage. Just place me in front of a difficult client and they will give in within ten seconds of looking at the downtrodden expression embedded in my retinas.

I can smoke a cigarette in under five minutes. This will ensure that I spend less time dilly-dallying out back, and more time pretending to work up front.

I am great at Super Mario World. Inter-company competitions? Never fear! You will leave the rest in shame if you have me on your team!

So there you have it. Those are my skills. Think I have a chance of getting my dream job by the weekend?

Ducks Should Be Wary Of Wind

2010-12-09T16:19:00.000-06:00

I looked at news online today for inspiration. I found a story about ten things that lets you know that you have the perfect guy who will love you forever and ever and ever and ever. I was going to read it and tear it apart on my blog, but I got bored and didn't make it past five. I'm surprised I even got that far.

Other news is that a dog and a deer are best pals, and some ducks were tossed around by a strong wind. Is that even newsworthy? Aren't ducks kinda made to deal with wind? They fly and migrate and all that, so you'd think that it wouldn't be a big deal. I mean, it's cool. Lets not waste our time writing news stories about the deficit, poverty, the lack of understanding of AIDS in third world countries or the quality of food that is served at Long John Silvers. Lets talk about the problems that ducks are having with the wind.

Hey, speaking of Long John Silvers, I was brave today and ate it for lunch. I haven't been there in awhile, mainly because no one will go with me very often. This is mostly because it is Long John Silvers (or LJS as I am going to be referring to it from now on. It's getting hard to type out every time) and not because I don't know how to use a shower or toothbrush.

I ordered some fried shrimp meal with a side of fried mozz sticks (their fries suck. Don't eat the fries) and fried hush puppies. Oh, and those fried things that are found on the bottom of the frier which they scoop up and put in the ~~fried~~ box.

While I was standing with my boyfriend waiting for my order, I heard the lady working the counter telling her co-worker why they were out of whatever item. Apparently the FDA chose their shipment for no apparent reason and it was stuck in Heston. They had to wait for it to be released before the shipment would reach the store.

First of all, Heston is a shit-town. I don't want to eat anything that's gone through Heston. I didn't even know it had a LJS. I though all it had was a Sonic and a Pizza Hut.

Second of all, what the fuck?! You don't know why they stopped your shipment? Maybe it's because they saw the LJS on the side of the truck and knew that it wouldn't pass the standard so it was a safe bet to check out.

At least this shipment made it through, right?

At least that's what I told myself while I stuffed my face with fried goodness and a side of cocktail sauce.

Now what are we going to do about those poor ducks?

Advice For The Young?

2010-12-08T12:15:00.000-06:00

Beer? Or Maybe Just A Glass Of A Better Personality With A Lemon Twist?

2010-12-07T11:51:00.000-06:00

Today I would like to like to talk about the specimen know as the non-drinker. Personally, I do not have a problem with people who don't drink. I'm proud of you for making good life decisions. Plus, you probably feel a hell of a lot better in the ~~afternoon~~ morning when you wake up.

At work, it is demanded that I suggest alcoholic drinks to my customers. We serve alcohol, and if you come in we would like you to drink some of it. Pretty simple. I usually just suggest a Bud Light or a Margarita. It's what you'll probably order anyway so it looks better if I'm right. Then people think I'm magic. Then they give me a better tip (sometimes).

My problem lies with those non-drinking specimen who get offended when I offer them alcohol. This happened to me the other night. I asked a man if he wanted a Bud Light while he was waiting for the rest of the party to get there. He jutted his head backwards, raised his eyebrows and smirked a bit with the right side of his mouth.

"Noo-o-oo..." he said (say this out loud and make your voice go higher with each 'o' to where it almost sounds like a question at the end. It's not a question, though. It's just condescending).

The other two at the table chortled along with him and all looked at me like I was an idiot.

Look Mr. Deuchy. I have no idea that you don't drink alcohol. I am just trying to do my job and make your ticket as high as a can so that I can get more than a measly two dollars for having to laugh at your awful jokes for an hour.

Here's my advice. Get a shirt (or sweatshirt because it is getting a bit chilly outside) made that clearly states 'I do not drink alcohol so please don't ask me if I want a beer.' If you wear that shirt in my section I'll probably comment on it in a way that makes you think I'm not making fun of you, but I won't pressure you to put any sinful goodness near your lips.

Or just sling back a few cold ones so it won't be so painful when they pry that stick out of your ass.

If You Kids Don't Shut The Hell Up, The Boogie Man Will Eat You!

2010-12-05T13:32:00.000-06:00

Last night was one of those rare occasions where I could imagine myself slapping a child. I got involuntarily stuck watching six kids, all under the age of seven, three of whom had never met me before and were terrified of me, rightly so. The youngest brat of the bunch was a four year old who refused to say anything but “umph” in between bursts of hysterical, ear bursting screams. Their mom drove ten miles to the house I was at to ask for a ride to the ER (which was less than half a mile away at this point. Could she not have had the mute child drive the rest of the way? It was an automatic, so it’s not like he’d had to shift or anything complicated like that).

So I get to stay with all the kids…yay me. By this time it’s 1 in the morning and all the kids are wide awake and I am highly pissed off. Not only am I never awake at this hour sober, but I have to form a human barricade along the edge of the couch (which is extremely awkward and uncomfortable) to keep the screaming one from lunging himself onto the floor…again.

Here, folks, is why I should not babysit your children…especially if I am not being paid for it, cause then I’ll just be resentful and say awesome things to your kids like, “If you don’t shut the hell up, the Boogie Man will eat you.”

Only after I pretended to call the Boogie Man and give him the address did the kids fall asleep; or at least pretend to. But whatever, a silent house is a happy house!

Ugh…where is the damn key to the liquor cabinet when you need it…and who the hell locks their liquor up anymore anyway?!

No Means No...Unless It's You Telling Me To Stop Wearing Vanilla

2010-12-01T17:13:00.000-06:00

I remember a manager that used to work at Shmupplebees a few years ago. This guy was a grade-A creepster. Seriously. He told one girl that he wanted to take her virginity. Not. Kidding.

I'm not what you call a touchy-feely type. I don't really like hugs. Or people touching me. It's just annoying to me. If people insist on putting their hands on me against my will (I call this personal space raping) I choose to lecture them about my distaste for physical contact until they are so annoyed that they won't even want to speak to me again. Whatever. Less touching in my life then.

This manager, let's calls him Shrigolicious, kept giving me the back pat-rubs. You know what I'm talking about. Find someone right now, pat their back a couple times lightly, then rub your hand in a small circle. Judge their reaction. I bet you a kitten's life that they're creeped out.

After asking him to stop politely a few times to no avail, I finally gave him the famous Kara-lecture.

"Look, Shrigolicious, I don't really liked to be touched. I've asked you to stop so you are now legally not allowed to touch me. Anything further is considered harassment. Plus, I find you severely annoying. So Stop. Now."

He found it appropriate to take this time to ask me this following question:

"So....If you don't like people touching you what do you do about sex?"

I informed him that he did not need to know, now or ever, the answer to that question because it would never pertain to him.

Cree-per... (Do that in a sing-song voice)

Dumb bastard made the mistake of telling me one time that he hated the smell of vanilla bath products.

Shrigolicious, Bath and Body Works thanks you. They got a hell-of-a-lot-of revenue in the vanilla department soon after that.

And you better believe my ass bathed/shampooed/conditioned/was sprayed in it every shift I worked.

Until he was fired.

For too many sexual harassment complaints.

Go figure....

Candlelight and Tears

2010-11-30T13:07:00.000-06:00

I think that today I am going to write a happy, non-bitchy post. I feel a bit ashamed because I hate reading posts like this, and don't often feel inclined to write them. I would just rather read about how crappy the lives are of all you bloggers out there. Kind of like watching a car crash and thinking, "Hey! At least I still have my car."

I have been feeling a little down in the dumps lately due to normal girlish hormonal fluxuations (that's what pms really stands for if you didn't know). This has pretty much made me a sensi-pants to any comment that I could construe negatively in regards to yours truly. Or just make me react badly to comments that I would have delt with differently in a normal hormonal state.

Yesterday, though, was a great day. I kept my sensitivity to a minimum (I think).

My boyfriend rented some movies and a wii game (some carnival game that was fun-freaking-tastic) and made dinner at my apartment. I kept asking if I could help him, and he kept telling me no, so I kept going back to playing Zelda and eventually went and cleaned my room cause I felt a little useless playing video games while he made me dinner.

Every now and then he would bring me treats. I got a piece of cheese, a spoonful of potato yumminess, and some fantastic cheese sauce that ended up on my sweatshirt to name a few.

I felt a bit like a little kid.

But mostly I felt like I was having a great time because I didn't have to help and I got snacks.

Great dinner, great company, and great night.

Low point, though, was when we were watching the Karate Kid. The new one with Will Smith's son. Not a bad movie. There was one toughing scene that made me tear up due to my NGHF syndrome that I'm dealing with right now. Totally blaming it on that.

I made the mistake of looking at him, and he saw the tears, The ones I had been fighting to hold back. Now they were discovered and demanded to be let free from my eyes!

Shit. Now I was crying.

I quickly tried to swipe my eyes with my sweatshirt and pretend that nothing was happening on the upper region of my face.

"I have allergies," I told him.

"Uh-huh......" he replied.

He tried to put his hand on me but I swatted it away.

"You don't speak of this to anyone!" I threatened. "I will kill you if you say anything."

At which point he busted up laughing. I don't think he believed me.

The rest of the night went along without any more tears. We had a few drinks, played fun-freaking-tastic carnival game on the Wii, and then ***CENSORED***, then went to bed.

This morning I woke up, cuddled into him, and thought to myself, "I've got a great man to love here."

A second after that he farted.

And I giggled.

Because I'm twelve.

As a side note, today my roommate started laughing. This is roughly close to the message she got on facebook.

Kara wouldn't want me to tell you that she cried during the Karate Kid.

Told you he didn't believe my threat.

Blog Love And A Thanksgiving Feast Of Bitchiness

2010-11-29T10:43:00.000-06:00

I think that sufficient time has passed that I can tell you about my Thanksgiving without seeming like a serial killer in the making (which I might have been on that day. Hey, we're all allowed to be crazy once in awhile).

But first....

Blog Love!!!

Mustang Sally over at Functinal Kaos gave me some. And it made me smile. You should go check her out because her posts are hella funny and her photography will make you want to go buy a camera in hopes that you can be half as good as her some day. Check out the photos of the carnival. The last one in the post is my favorite.

This is what I received from her:

Thanks Mustang Sally!

Yeah. It totally has cupcakes on it. WITH sprinkles! And who the hell doesn't love cupcakes with sprinkles?

In the spirit of these things (awesome awards), I would like to pass this on to Mrs. Hyde at A Bitch Called Mom. I just started following her blog recently and love it! She is not afraid to talk about the side of motherhood that sucks ass (and the side that is the most hilarious). I really enjoy the ~~bitchiness~~ honesty in the voice she uses to describe those who step in and out of her life. Plus, she makes a hell of a cake judging by the pictures.

Now to talk about Thanksgiving. I got to work at five-thirty. Thank God, because there was a seat in that restaurant that really needed to be warmed by my ass for about an hour straight. I kept it to beer (mostly) before the shift, with the exception of a few shots of whiskey. The last one was not my idea. I gave in fairly (totally) easily, but it wasn't my idea.

I would like you to know that the only incident I had was knocking the basket of bev naps onto the floor. I am clumsy anyway so no one knew it was due to my Thanksgiving celebration right before work. Even if they did know, I doubt anyone working that night would have cared.

So I warmed a seat up, played hangman (the girl totally cheated), and drank a lot of diet pepsi. Finally, about an hour or so after I got there my first table was sat. The lady asked me if the turkey was prepared in the store that day, to which I replied, "...kind of..." She didn't get the turkey dinner. I didn't blame her.

We're going to blur the rest of the night together into a whirlwind of scattered tables, cigarette breaks, crappy tips, cigarette breaks, rude service on my part, and a few cigarette breaks. Seriously, I think I have cancer from that night alone.

Fast-forward to my last table. The kitchen closed at eight-thirty. A man and his wife came in and sat in my recently swept (I still had the broom in my hand. I had literally just finished) section at eight-twenty six (I'm not sure where the hyphen goes on that one. If someone would like to correct me it'd probably be a good idea because I don't like being wrong on those things).

I know there were a lot of parenthesis, so I'm going to say that again. Eight-thirty equals the magical time that I get to retreat to the back and put everything away. Eight-twenty six equals the time that Deuchy McDeucherson sat down at my immaculately clean table. I hate him.

This guy has the audacity (emphasize that word when you read this sentence) to make this joke:

"I just came in so late that you'd have to stay here later. Har-de-har-har." Add a leg slap for good measure (he didn't really leg slap but add one in your mind anyway because it'll make him look even more like a jackass and that will make me happy).

I mustered up a laugh after a few awkward seconds of staring him down, but I think I sounded like a wounded hyena.

Yeah, what a jerk, right?!

I pretty much ignored them for most of the time they were in there. You don't make jokes about the loss of my Thanksgiving to me on Thanksgiving. I will not want to talk to you.

Plus, I was eating my free Shmupplebees meal and planning out the fastest way to make myself drunk after work so I was busy.

And no, I didn't have the turkey dinner either. It looked nasty.

Everyone Loves Blog Love

2010-11-26T14:34:00.001-06:00

I GOT AN AWARD!!!

Given to me by the awesome Semi True Torystellar

I want to thank Semi True Torystellar at Can U Relate? for bestowing upon me my very first blog award! I am super excited!

To define this award, I am going to steal the definition from her post. Because ~~I'm lazy~~ it was said better than I could describe it.

"This award goes to bloggers who hold a mirror up to society and its members who may have somewhat gone astray and often ~~smash them over the head with it~~ provide insight as to how those situations should be properly handled"

If you don't believer her, go to my profile. It specifically says that my hobbies are 'making fun of people'. See? Proof.

I want to take this time to thank ~~the academy~~ Semi True Torystellar for giving me this award. It just plain makes me feel good about myself. All of you reading this, go to her blog. Now. Don't even finish reading my post. Hers is better. Quit wasting your time here.

Are you still here?

Good. Keep reading mine. I still want your attention. Especially since I am about to give this to a few of the people that I have grown to love in the Blogger world. That's right, some blog love is coming up...

Now!

I would like to give this award to.....

(drumroll)

Bruce @ Just Another Day In Paradise.

His blog is funny and awesome. I always get a good laugh when I head that way for tea even though he's a little stingy with the splenda. Visit him, but bring your own.

Sandra @ Absolutely Narcissism.

She dressed her son up as a Smurf. And gave him a tail. What more do you need to know? It was for Halloween, don't worry. Although I wouldn't put it past her to do it just for her own amusement. That's how awesome she is.

Jamie @ Daydream Believer.

She is pretty much adorable in her writing. Her voice is honest and often hilarious in the way she views the world. And the girl shares my love for nutella.

The Bitchy Waiter @ well, The Bitchy Waiter.

This is one of the first blogs I've followed and his view on people has been cracking me up ever since. If you've ever worked in the service industry his stories are completely relatable, and still entertaining if you haven't.

Now go, blog readers, go! Fly away to these blogs and find out just why they deserve these awards (because they're all awesome).

Save A Turkey, Drink Some Whiskey

2010-11-24T14:50:00.000-06:00

I have decided to pout all day today. The grumpy-stick-my-lip-out kind of pout. I may include a nose wrinkle if not enough people ask me what's wrong. And you all need to know that I have huge puppy dog brown eyes. Not the scary round kind of big eyes. Mine are still a bit almond shaped even though they've built a house, put up a white picket fence, and bought a dog on half my face. Point being that I'm going to put my lip out, wrinkle my nose and make people feel sorry for me all day.

I'm also about to go to the liquor store and buy a LOT of alcohol. Don't worry, I'm going to stick to beer (mostly) before my shift tomorrow but this server is definitely going in at least a sheet and a half to the wind.

Tonight, I am going to drink at least a bottle of wine and possibly some whiskey. This will turn my pouty face into a "MmI Haf Tsoh Wrofk Thanshkgifing.....mmmmThpppp!" Insert more sad face. Okay, by now it will be more of a grumpy 'I'm really drunk' kind of face. Also, insert multiple deep sighs to make sure everyone around me is paying attention.

I will wake up tomorrow and drink a red beer to make myself feel better. For those of you who don't know, that is simply beer with tomato juice. It's delicious. Try one. Then I will tally how many beers I am able to down before my shift starts. Then I will stumble my ass into Shmupplebees. Then I will glare at people for approximately four to five hours.

After that is said and done I am going to come home, drink the second bottle of wine that I have purchased for my holiday occasion, and then make shots that include the whiskey. I will then slightly slur SHOTS! to everyone around me (most likely my boyfriend and his roommate) until people join in on the holiday cheer. I will then pour more shots and pout until someone takes them with me. Rinse, repeat. Rinse, repeat.

I am going to be blackout drunk by this point so I have no more information for you. End of post.

Happy Thanksgiving!

(And for all of you reading this, I really do hope that you have a great holiday. Be merry, drink wine, and make a cheers to Kara Hoag!)

The Case Of the Passive Agressive Sleeper

2010-11-23T13:43:00.002-06:00

I have no idea what this says, so I hope it's not offensive.

If it is you should understand that I did not personally make this.
And then you should get over it.

Does anyone else get aggressive in their sleep when they're angry?

My boyfriend told me that I kicked him off the bed not once, but twice, the other night. I was sleeping, I didn't do it on purpose! I promise!

My last boyfriend used to tell me that I would do that to him when I was angry at him. Pretty much take over the entire bed in my sleep and refuse to let him sleep next to me. So, I started thinking about why I would've done it the other night.

A couple days ago, my boyfriend's roommate made a comment that kind of hurt my feelings (Oh PMS'ing. Boys need not look at that one if they don't want to). I don't think that the comment contained any animosity, but it made me feel slightly bad about myself nonetheless. I had decided to shove it aside and not worry about it, but that just doesn't work sometimes.

After thinking for awhile I decided that I had been passive aggressively taking it out on my boyfriend, including kicking him off the bed....literally...

I heard this story quite a few times in a row. I think he was still a little mad that I did this..

Apparently, I just kept scooting closer to him in the middle of the night until he ended up on the floor. Then I refused to move or respond to anything, including turning on the light, practically shouting my name, and physically trying to push me over. Did I also mention that I had all the blankets and wouldn't give those up either?

He finally got through my defense and made his way through enemy lines back onto the bed. At around seven in the morning he found himself on the floor...again. This time I was a bit more responsive, but still just as uncooperative. I just kept responding 'mmmm-hmmmm' to everything.

There was supposedly a lot of kicking and kneeing involved when he was allowed in the bed with me.

I feel bad.

I also laughed my ass off when he told me this.

Then apologized

Then laughed some more.

Did I mention that all this happened in his bed?